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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28657017">Something More</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/amiedala/pseuds/amiedala'>amiedala</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Love, Reader Insert, Romance, Slow Burn, Smut, but it's worth it i promise ;), hurt comfort, some smut later on, this is really gonna be a SLOW burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 03:34:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>168,991</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28657017</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/amiedala/pseuds/amiedala</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You, The Mandalorian/Reader, The Mandalorian/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>381</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>773</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Into the Stars</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/21651097">Rough Day</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/guardianangelcas/pseuds/guardianangelcas">guardianangelcas</a>.
        </li>

    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Meeting the Mandalorian was like colliding into the rest of your life at a moment’s notice. Like oh, there you are. It was both jarring and familiar at the same time, like stepping into a minute with no intentions and stepping out of it in deja-vu. You had always been told you made too much out of everything, that you blew up every circumstance to fit some kind of grand destiny, some huge significance. If anyone asked, you’d swear up and down this was different. It was different. The Mandalorian sweeping you off your feet and out of your back alley haunts and narrow escapes was something kismet. Something cosmic. Something more.<br/></p>
<p>You met him on Nevarro. You weren’t even supposed to be there. You were supposed to be back in the Mid Rim by that point, long gone from your last mission gone sour. Your ship had broken down and you narrowly escaped a crash landing, and you’d hiked for hours through the unyielding lava fields for the closest town, with nothing but a handful of credits and the clothes on your back. Somehow, miraculously, you were able to grab the last of your water and your mother’s necklace from where it was hanging on the dashboard before the magma had bubbled up and claimed the better half of the old X-wing before you could go back in for more.</p>
<p>“Dank ferrik,” you seethed, and the curse felt alien under your tongue. There was no one out here to hear it but yourself, the lava, and the sulfuric air, anyways, so you grumbled out a few more before the ship fully sank into the magma in front of you. </p>
<p>The ship itself wasn’t a big loss—you’d only gotten it because it was the cheapest after you lost your own to that smuggler, but being stranded on a planet that was so aggressive towards any sort of survival wasn’t the best circumstance in the galaxy. But here you were, stuck, unmoored, anchorless, on a planet not known for anything except its rivers of lava and a bounty hunters’ guild you’d heard about and tried your best to stay away from. That town was the only landmark you had, though, so you begrudgingly trekked across Nevarro’s molten surface in search for any form of civilization. </p>
<p>The sky had started to slip off into darkness, and the small flecks of the other Outer Rim planets glistened lightyears away from where you were hiking when you stumbled over something and nearly fell into what you assumed was a dormant vat of lava. It was only when you scrambled away from the hot pocket of ground that you realized it was a stormtrooper helmet. A stormtrooper helmet with a head still in it. You gasped and skittered away, pushing off the heels of your hands to get upward as fast as you can, not even registering the heat eating through the skin of your palms. You didn’t have a weapon—the old blaster you’d carried for the last few years had been eaten up with the X-Wing—and as your eyes adjusted to a collection of white armor and bodies on the ground, you kicked yourself from not prioritizing the gun over getting out unscathed.<br/></p>
<p>You didn’t scare easy. You grew up on a slowly abandoned Rebel base back on Yavin, and even after your parents’ deaths, you were surrounded by a legion of people who took care of you and taught you how to fight. Really, you were good at getting out of sticky situations that looked too dire to survive—take the crash landing an hour back for example—but you had a giant blind spot of earnestness to believe the people you went into business with were being sincere. That’s how the ship had crashed in the first place, you exchanged a repair of your original starship with providing Alderaanian liquor to a smuggler and his droid back on Dantooine who had both cut and run with it before fully repairing the vitally broken control panel. It was a rookie mistake, which you definitely weren’t, but he had just seemed so earnest in his need for the alcohol, and your fatal flaw was that you always trusted people who needed help. Even to your own detriment.</p>
<p>It had been your downfall back home, and at least twice when you were adventuring through the Outer Rim, and when you narrowly escaped a Deveronian when you had first started out on your own, because you were too close to a scumbag in friend’s clothing who fumbled the bag and left you for dead. He even stole your ship, then, and you had to make a series of sordid deals to get off Polis Massa, let alone find a place where you could crash safely for weeks before you could work up enough credits to get the X-Wing, which was, quite ceremoniously, dead now. </p>
<p>You shivered with the realization that you might be in danger, too. There were so many bodies scattered across this ridge and the next, and a handful of crashed TIE fighters. The sight of them didn’t strike fear into you—they never really had, you were raised in the Alliance and you could outfly the Empire since you were six years old—but they made you feel uneasy. Nevarro didn’t have a Rebel base, and you had never met someone in the Alliance who was from the planet. With the obvious show of Imperial affiliation and the bounty hunters’ guild, Nevarro was seedy enough that it kept you on edge as you walked, hopefully towards a town with people who didn’t want anything more from you than an easy job.</p>
<p>It must have been near dawn when you finally made it to the edge of the town. It was at best shot to all hell and at worst absolutely obliterated. Your heart sank. There were more dead suits of white armor scattered across the dirt and sand. There were helmets on pikes that looked far too fresh. Your hand twitched near your thigh where your blaster was usually strapped. All of this was a bad idea. You shouldn’t have left the blaster in the ship. If you were really playing the game of regrets, though, you never should have helped the smuggler. You should have paid the fifteen more credits to get the X-Wing fixed on Tatooine instead. You should have stayed on Yavin after your parents died and shouldn’t have been so earnest to make it on your own and—</p>
<p>“Hey.” The voice came from behind you, and you whipped around so fast your hair fell from where the clasp had been hanging on to nothing but a prayer since your crash landing. You shook it away from your face, eyes squinted at the figure that seemed to materialize behind you. “Where are you from, pretty thing?” </p>
<p>“Coruscant,” you lied through your teeth. The name of the planet you’ve been trying to avoid for years burns a hole through your belly.</p>
<p>“You don’t belong in a place like this.” He stepped into the light, and he wasn’t human. You didn’t know what he was, exactly, but his tone made your skin crawl. You held your ground. </p>
<p>“You’re right. I don’t. I’m looking for a mechanic.”</p>
<p>“I’m a mechanic.” Like hell he was. You clenched your jaw, trying to look menacing. The grease and sweat from the hike there was smeared on your face, your pants had gotten ripped while climbing out of the crash. You didn’t like how his eyes fixated hungrily on the flesh of your exposed thigh, and you had to shake the thought away while you walked into a voice much more brazen than your own. </p>
<p>“Do you know how to fix an X-Wing?” You stepped forward, and the Rebel insignia on your necklace glinted in the low light. Around these parts, after the fall of the Empire, you’ve heard Rebels strike fear into the local folk. Suddenly, the guy took a step backward, and you reveled in your menace for a split second before you realized someone was standing behind you. </p>
<p>He didn’t speak again before he took off. You stuttered, the sudden appearance of the figure behind you catching in your chest, and it rose to a cut off yelp when a red blast knocked the one who had hit on you off his feet, spiraling over a stormtrooper body, falling to the rocky floor. Dead. He was dead. You spun, praying that your heart hammering in your chest was just leftover adrenaline and not a signifier of a new threat.<br/>
Standing behind you, outfitted entirely in silver reflective armor, was a Mandalorian. “Nevarro doesn’t have mechanics.”</p>
<p>You squinted. You were completely taken aback by his presence, his hulking realness, but suddenly his statement overpowered your revelry. “I find that hard to believe.”<br/>
“That X-Wing crashed out there is yours.” It isn’t a question. His voice is deep, a baritone that spreads warmth even blocked by the modulator in his helmet. You’d only heard of Mandalorians in stories, legends, around the campfires growing up. You didn’t expect one to ever materialize in anything other than myth, let alone stand in front of you, electric. </p>
<p>You nod. Did he follow you all the way to town?</p>
<p>“You aren’t looking for a mechanic.” His voice is so sure, so big. Your world spins on its axis, the feeling foreign and familiar all at once. He had spoken three sentences to you, and already, you felt that dizzy, magnetic pull that you tried to convince yourself was there much more often than it was.  </p>
<p>“I…” You trail off, staring up at his visor. He seems larger than life, much larger than you, at least, and for some reason, the hugeness is cutting off all of your words before they can fully form. “No. I need a way off this planet, though.”</p>
<p>“Can you fly?” </p>
<p>You balk at his question, annoyed—obviously, you could fly—and then remember the only track record you have in the Mandalorian’s eyes is your ship, crash landed and then immediately swallowed by lava. “I’m a pilot. A runner. I’ve been flying since I was six years old.” </p>
<p>He takes a minute, completely silent. The noise of the scattered stormtrooper bodies around you suddenly seems deafening. You aren’t scared of him. You think. Your heart is still hammering, but it’s nothing like the fear that rushed through you when the alien talked to you a few minutes ago. It’s different—not adrenaline, exactly, and not fear. You place the feeling when it washes over you again, warm and unexpected—Excitement. </p>
<p>“Okay.” He moves, and you startle. You didn’t realize the conversation was over. </p>
<p>“Uh,” you stammer, “Do you… do you need a pilot?”</p>
<p>“No,” he says, over his shoulder. His strides are long. You step forward, almost pulled after him, then stuttered to a stop. “But I might be your only ride out of here.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” you manage, and then follow him. The dim light spreads over the horizon as you walk, stunned into silence by his own, trying to mimic his step, his quiet. It doesn’t happen. You’re clunking along beside him, the noise made even louder by the silence in his gait. “I’m not picky, where we go, you know—I was heading away from the Outer Rim, so I’m in no rush to get back there, but—I mean, I’m thankful that you’re taking me anywhere—”</p>
<p>“I can’t pay you. But you don’t have to pay me, either.”</p>
<p>You blink, feet stuttering to a near stop, buffering before you remember to keep following him. “I’m sorry?”</p>
<p>“You can fly, right?”</p>
<p>You blink, eyes darting up to the back of his helmet. It might just be the modulator, but there’s no air in his voice, no struggle to cross the hard, hot terrain. It’s impressive. “I can, but you thought you didn’t need a pilot—?” </p>
<p>“You were a rebel.” His voice is curt. Quick. </p>
<p>Your eyebrows furrow, looking down at the insignia on your necklace and then back up at him. There’s a dry breeze over the molten moors, and his cape catches in the wind. It flutters. It’s the first sign of something gentle about him. It’s the memory you take with you for months later, savoring it for when he’s leaving you on the ship while he goes and catches his bounties, one by one. You cling to it in the long lapses of time where he doesn’t offer you anything but silence. You’ll hold onto it, a butterfly of a memory, for weeks—until he offers you something softer, something warmer. Something real. </p>
<p>You don’t know that in the moment, though. Right now, he’s asked a question, and you’re struggling to answer it honestly. “I was.” </p>
<p>“You don’t scare easily.” </p>
<p>It’s like he’s putting together these impossible puzzle pieces of your life. How is he guessing this? He’s known you for maybe ten whole minutes. It swells in your chest, a thunderbird of a thing, and you don’t know why. </p>
<p>“I’d like to think so,” you manage, as he tilts his helmet back to search you for your answer. Your breath hitches in your throat at the thought of his eyes on you, and you wonder what color they are. Maker. Where did that come from?</p>
<p>“Good.”</p>
<p>A ship seems to materialize out of nowhere, but it seems more likely that you were so caught up in the mystery of the Mandalorian and keeping your gaze locked on him that his ship was in the periphery of your vision. You follow him, still confused, up the descended gangplank. Sitting in the middle of the ship is a tiny green baby, with eyes ten times the size of its nose, with peach fuzz lazily dusting the top of its head. It’s holding a tiny silver ball in its three-fingered hands, looking up at the Mandalorian with outstretched arms.<br/>
You watch, in stunned silence, as the giant hulking silver figure crouches down to pick up the baby, meeting its little coos with soft words right back. It’s as soft as his cape fluttering in the wind, an unexpected, fleeting feeling of warmth. You don’t know what to do with yourself. The warm breeze buffets the small of your back, ruffles your loose hair. You just stand there, entirely enamored with this tiny green baby in the Mandalorian’s arms, speechless. </p>
<p>“You don’t scare easily,” the Mandalorian repeats. </p>
<p>You shake your head. “Nope.”</p>
<p>He holds the baby up to you. “How about now?”</p>
<p>You blink, confused. “Am I supposed to be scared of it?”</p>
<p>“Him.”</p>
<p>You take a tentative step forward, gaze flickering between the two of them, wondering what would have happened if you had crash landed literally anywhere else, at literally any other time. Something big and ceremonious swells somewhere deep in your chest. </p>
<p>“I’m not scared,” you finally say, and when your eyes find his visor again, you hope he knows you mean you’re not scared of either of them. You could be—most people with common sense are struck with fear at the sight of meeting a Mandalorian, especially one associated with such a widespread bounty hunters’ guild—but fear just keeps getting pushed away as the seconds pass. A small voice in the back of your head whispers that this is another mistake of being too trustful, but the larger half of you knows how to handle yourself if you find trouble. Besides, he has a tiny alien kid, and something tells you the Mandalorian wouldn’t put the baby in a situation that he deemed unsafe. As the door zips shut behind you, you step forward into the ship—into the place you’ll eventually make your home—heart still hammering on and on, thrumming as the three of you lift off of Nevarro’s surface and into the stars.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Not Leaving You Here</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“You’re not fending for yourself on Corellia,” he says, and it’s abrupt. He turns back around, and you swallow a few mouthfuls of air because what are you supposed to say to that? </p>
<p>“I’m a big girl,” you chance, leaning forward, ever so slightly. “I can handle myself.”</p>
<p>“I’m not leaving you here,” he counters, and you fall silent. Okay, then. Your heart does a backflip in your chest. He’s not leaving you here. From the way he’s refused to let you leave the Razor Crest on the last few locations in sketchy places, you have a sneaking suspicion he’s gotten accustomed to your presence, and maybe even that he doesn’t want you to get hurt. It sings in your chest. Either that, or you’ve unknowingly been kidnapped for the better part of the month, but, if you were being honest with that deep down adrenaline rush that follows him around, you don’t even care.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>surprise! thought i'd post chapter 2 as a little treat since so many of you seem to love this so far, which i'm SO thankful for!!! </p>
<p>reminder this will be posted on my tumblr https://www.tumblr.com/blog/amiedala as well!</p>
<p>enjoy &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It takes three weeks, a shady bounty on Bespin, and a mistake on your part of epic proportions, but you finally get the Mandalorian to talk to you more than in passing. He’s a man of few words, this much you figured when he first took you aboard, but it is intimidating how much silence he lives in. You aren’t used to the quiet. Even when you flew through the stars yourself your commlink was always on, or you’d fiddle around with the dials until you found a station from the closest planet that could croon to you as you flew. Back on Yavin, you shared quarters with other families and other rebels when your parents left on missions, and even in their death, you would curl up with friendly faces or droids whenever you went to sleep. You liked noise. Noise was human. Noise made you feel real. </p>
<p>If the Mandalorian didn’t have a death wish for every single droid he came across, you might have made the joke that he was one himself. He’s robotic, systemic in his silence. He only ever seems to speak when he tells you to move out of the way or how long he’ll be gone when he goes to collect his bounties, leaving you in charge of the kid until he returns. </p>
<p>You have literally zero idea why you’re still here. Still, though, there’s something pulsing in you whenever you talk to him, think about him. There’s something thrumming at the same frequency that you’re tuned into simmering under all that beskar, you can feel it. You want to ask him if he feels it too, that low humming in his chest when you’re alone together, if you could ever figure out how to broach the subject. The first planet you touched down on after leaving Nevarro’s molten surface was Corellia. You had asked, quite begrudgingly, if this is where you got off, where he left you. </p>
<p>The question seemed to evaporate in midair. You were both in the cockpit, him in the pilot’s seat, you a few feet behind him. The baby was sleeping in his crib, the floating egg hovering somewhere down the ladder. It was so quiet there. You weren’t even sure, for what felt like full minutes, if he had heard you, and you were about to ask him again when he slowly turned in his seat, the visor fixing on your face.</p>
<p>His legs were splayed open. His lap was so <i>big</i>. You gulped, trying to slow down your heartbeat as he surveyed you, completely unyielding in his quiet. </p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>Your eyes narrow. “I can—I’ve been in worse places, before, it’s okay, I can work my way off Corellia. I know you have bounties to collect, and I know this was just supposed to be my ride off Nevarro—” </p>
<p>“You’re not fending for yourself on Corellia,” he says, and it’s abrupt. He turns back around, and you swallow a few mouthfuls of air because what are you supposed to say to that? </p>
<p>“I’m a big girl,” you chance, leaning forward, ever so slightly. “I can handle myself.”</p>
<p>“I’m not leaving you here,” he counters, and you fall silent. <i>Okay</i>, then. Your heart does a backflip in your chest. He’s not leaving you here. From the way he’s refused to let you leave the Razor Crest on the last few locations in sketchy places, you have a sneaking suspicion he’s gotten accustomed to your presence, and maybe even that he doesn’t want you to get hurt. It sings in your chest. Either that, or you’ve unknowingly been kidnapped for the better part of the month, but, if you were being honest with that deep down adrenaline rush that follows him around, you don’t even care. </p>
<p>You’ve seen most of the Outer Rim before, and you had gone to a handful of planets away from your initial home on Yavin, but this kind of exploration feels different. It’s wandering and collecting. You missed the feeling of being in the sky without having to trade it for shady deals to earn your keep, and sometimes the Mandalorian will let you drive. Only when he’s exhausted, or when you have a long way to go, but still. Sometimes. Most of all, though, you think he’s relieved that he trusts you enough with the baby and the ship when he’s gone. It’s a silent agreement. You didn’t realize being a glorified babysitter could ever be so fun. You love the little guy, the way he coos when he sees you, how his big eyes glow whenever the Mandalorian is around. Keeping inanimate objects—and frogs—out of his big mouth is a job in it of itself, sometimes, but you don’t mind. </p>
<p>If nothing else, it’s a nice vacation, planet-hopping and watching the Mandalorian’s kid. You have no idea what he looks like under the armor—you heard stories of one that fell into a Sarlacc pit on Tatooine from your parents’ friends in the alliance, but that was it—but you know he’s supposed to scare you. Intimidate you, at the very least. He makes that easy, sometimes, to dwindle hours down just trying to guess what’s happening in his head under the helmet. One time, you nearly fried your hand on a rogue wire, and he pulled your wrist so hard out of the flame that you spun around 180 degrees, the wind knocked out of you.</p>
<p>“You need to be more careful,” is all he says, but his grip lingered. Just for a second too long, but enough to make his reprimand deeper, more meaningful. And then you wonder, <i>am I doing it again? Making something out of absolutely nothing?</i> Still, it lives in your head, his tone, his voice, the way he grits out the words. It pops into your head when you’re alone at night, sometimes, when your mind is wandering to someplace filthy and you’ve let yourself count how many months it’s been since anyone but yourself has touched you. </p>
<p>And then Bespin happens. It comes out of nowhere. You’ve come accustomed to the creatures that the Mandalorian brings aboard, the way that he tolerates their presence until they get too chatty, or try to spark up a fight, and then blasts them with a hiss of gas that captures their entire bodies in carbonite until he can return them to the Guild. You’ve gone back to Nevarro twice since you left it, where the Mandalorian collects more bounty pucks and informs you where you’re headed off to next. You still have no idea why you’re here, why he’s refused to let you walk out on him or the kid, other than maybe playing babysitter is a necessity for him. But that begs the question of what he did before you were on board; before he ever met you. He doesn’t like you asking questions. He doesn’t seem to like talking, just treats it as an annoying necessity, so you’ve long given up on filling the space with noise, as much as you miss it. When he leaves, though, you crank whatever music is playing on the local stations up to the max. You play old cantina love songs for the kid, grabbing the little green baby and swinging him around the ship’s interior, putting him on your jutted hip as you swirl around the cargo hold, murmuring the songs to him like your mother used to do with you. It hurts somewhere deep down inside, the ache that your parents’ death left, something you learned how to ignore long before you met the Mandalorian or the baby, but something about them both dredges it up in you. </p>
<p>As unsure as your presence is here, though, there’s something even in this tin can ship that feels warm. You can feel it even in the silence, even when no one’s talking. It’s crept up on you, and you’ve stopped asking where your ride stops. The Mandalorian is in no hurry to kick you out it seems, and he’d tell you whenever your contract, whatever that meant, ended. So, you whirl around, hair falling loose around your face, too long and spiraling out from your braid. You’re so engaged in your opera to the baby that you don’t even notice the hiss of the doors as the plank disengages from the Crest. You have your hand in a faux microphone, belting out notes from a song that doesn’t even have words to get the baby to do his squeal and giggle, the noise equal parts air and glee, and you don’t notice that there’s someone entering the ship who is very much <i>not</i> the Mandalorian until it’s too late. </p>
<p>You freeze. The figure in front of you is tall, much taller than you, with a grimace on his face and something rough and scarily alight in his eyes. He reminds you of the one that tried to pick you up on Nevarro, and that alone makes your tummy flip backwards. The gangplank starts to hiss and crawl back in towards the ship, and you pop the baby up closer to your chest, so your good hand is free. </p>
<p>“This isn’t your ship.” </p>
<p>The man grins, and you scowl back at him. You still don’t have a blaster, which makes you feel utterly useless, but you can fight. You learned how to hit and evade, both in piloting and in combat, and the baby’s egg is right behind you—if you tried, you could probably hold him off. Probably. </p>
<p>“It could be,” he sneers, and you pull the baby’s head closer to your chest.</p>
<p>“I don’t think so.” </p>
<p>“What is a girl like you doing here, sunshine?” His voice is so deep. It vibrates as more words fall out, and that alone scares you. </p>
<p>“Visiting a friend.” Another lie. One that probably won’t even deter him. It’s time to go into fight mode. You glance to your right, where the baby’s cradle is waiting, mouth open. Okay. You could swing him into it with one arm and move forward into a punch if you needed to. You place the baby in the cradle, giving him a look. He shuts it as soon as he’s in it, and you push it back into the corner. “You don’t want to meet him.”</p>
<p>“Maybe I do.” </p>
<p>Your eyes flick away from his, just a second, to survey what weapons he’s packing. It looks like a sword on his back, and maybe a knife strapped to his thigh. It’s a mistake: he takes your falter as an opportunity to move forward and advance towards you. </p>
<p>“Don’t touch me,” you manage, as a large, meaty palm moves forward. A quiver breaks your voice down the middle. Okay, you’ve gauged the situation. The baby is safe in his egg. You can evade this guy’s grip long enough to force him into the corner, and you can hit the release of carbonite. You can do this. </p>
<p>He’s <i>big</i>, though. You knock his palm out of your proximity, but he’s still coming. You try to duck him—stupidly, it was way too predictable, and his forearm slams into your stomach and knocks the wind out of you. Something desperate clenches inside you—the Mandalorian has only been gone for an hour, and he usually doesn’t return with the bounty until at least three. You have to defend yourself, and the baby, because no one’s coming to the rescue. On the ground, you groan, locking eyes with the armory on the other side of the ship. You could potentially slide through his legs and open the hatch—but then you both have weapons within reach, and you don’t trust yourself to get there in time. </p>
<p>Your chest hurts. He’s looking down at you, now, leering, and you get up, shoving off the heels of your hands like you did on Nevarro. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt the weight of being a relatively small woman traveling alone, especially since you’ve sort of joined the crew of the Razor Crest, and you forgot how dangerous the galaxy can be when you’re not in the pilot’s seat and you’re without your gun. </p>
<p>“Relax,” the man says, and you clench your jaw down. “You can come with me, sweetheart.” You know he wants to hurt you. You can sense it, in the way his eyes are set, in the way he’s leaning towards you. You don’t want to give him the chance, but you don’t know what else to do. </p>
<p>“I’m fine, thanks,” you manage, trying to step forward and not get boxed into the corner, but he takes the full weight of his palm and slams into you again, and you fly into the nook near where the Mandalorian sleeps. He’s got you fucking pinned, now. He’s moving forward, and the same giant hand lunges out in front of his hulking exterior, and then his hand is clenched against your throat and you’re being picked up off the floor, your feet kicking at nothing. </p>
<p>“Let go,” you manage, using your fist to try and knock at something on his giant body. “Let go,” you repeat, strained, “I’ll come with you—please, just let me go, please—”</p>
<p>The giant hand around your neck suddenly goes limp, and you think for a second that your sore excuse for a bargain maybe worked, until you feel blood dripping down your shirt and the man’s eyes go lifeless. Your ears stop ringing as your legs touch the floor, and your knees buckle as you gasp for air. There’s a body on the ground, blue blood pooling out all over the floor of the Crest, and the Mandalorian is standing at the entrance. </p>
<p>“Are you okay?” His voice is quick, deep, low. You don’t even register he’s talking to you, at first. “Hey. <i>Hey</i>” You realize, stupidly, that his hands are on you, hovering around your midriff. His gloved fingers are wrapped nearly entirely around the circumference of your waist, but he’s so hesitant with his touching. “Where are you hurt?”</p>
<p>You stare down at the man, clearly dead, leeching blood all over the floor. There’s a knife the size of your leg piercing him straight through—his knife, you realize, the sword on his back that the Mandalorian stabbed him clean through with. “He’s dead.”</p>
<p>“I don’t care about him.” The Mandalorian’s voice is terse, still low and desperate. It takes a minute, but you finally look up at him, register that his hands are supporting you, and slump into them. “Hey. Did you get cut at all? Where did he—what happened?”</p>
<p>“Is that the bounty?”</p>
<p>“What—no, no, the bounty wasn’t here. I was coming back when I saw this one in front of the ship. <i>Where did he hurt you</i>?” </p>
<p>“I’m fine,” you manage, and the Mandalorian’s left hand moves from your back up to cradle your face. No, he’s not cradling your face, you realize, he’s cupping it, puckering your lips out with his grip. He’s looking at you, seeing if your eyes are unfocused, if you lost your consciousness. “He only knocked me around a bit. I’m <i>fine</i>.”</p>
<p>“That was close.”</p>
<p>You nod. It was. “It was,” you echo, and then your stomach clenches and you let out a low, deep groan. “I made a miscalculation—an overestimation in my own evasion skills, really, but I miscalculated how fast his arms were in comparison to my fight or flight reflexes. I’m fine—” </p>
<p>“Don’t lie to me. Where did he hurt you?”</p>
<p>This time, you gesture to your midriff, wincing as the Mandalorian moves his hand over your abdomen. “Ow,” you say pointedly, and he sighs, pulling you gently to the floor.</p>
<p>“Stay here,” he commands, and you have nowhere else to go, so you obey, still gasping for air. He drags the dead body back down the gangplank, giving the guy a kick or two before he pulls the door back up. He shakes his hand free of the slick of blue blood, walks over to the baby’s cradle, and inspects him for any damage before he makes his way back over to you. “Stay still.”</p>
<p>“Do you see me moving?” you ask, and it’s meant to be a joke, but he sighs, and suddenly, his hands are moving back towards your belly. Even through the gloves, you can feel how strong his hands are, how big they are in comparison to your torso. You gulp in air, your injured stomach doing backflips that aren’t helping the ache, but he’s right there, touching you, and it’s such a stark contrast to the way he’s acted around you that it’s intoxicating. Your heart catches in your chest.</p>
<p>“Lift this,” he says, but hesitates long enough for you to pull your shirt up yourself, and the intention of the gesture after nearly getting choked out by the thug a few minutes prior makes your eyes spark with tears. “You don’t look like you’re bleeding internally. You…Your abdomen isn’t rigid enough for that.” He pauses, and his visor is trained on your bellybutton. Your own gaze frets back and forth between his helmet and his hands, and you realize what he’s looking at. There’s a jagged scar down the left side of your belly, leftovers from the last time you were on Coruscant. </p>
<p>“It’s old,” you whisper. It’s obviously old, it’s scar tissue only a few shades darker than your skin, but he’s staring at it with such intensity that you feel compelled to explain it away. </p>
<p>“Who did that?”</p>
<p>You look up at him, again, his hand still resting on your belly, a featherweight compared to its size. It’s dizzying you. This is the most he’s ever consecutively spoke to you in the three weeks you’ve been aboard, and his voice is so vibrant, a baritone that lingers in the air long after it’s left it, even through the modulator. </p>
<p>“He’s long gone,” you manage, and it’s not a lie. “It was years ago, really—”</p>
<p>“Where else did you get hurt?” He interrupts, and it takes you a second to realize he’s referring to the guy he just killed, not the one from the cantina five years ago. </p>
<p>“Just,” you say, gesturing a tired hand to your neck, “my throat.”</p>
<p>Again, the Mandalorian falls into silence. His hand is still on your stomach, and the low thrum in your belly that pulses whenever he’s around is deafening. It feels like your ears are still ringing from being choked up against the wall, and you think if it were the Mandalorian’s hands doing the choking, maybe you wouldn’t have resisted so much.</p>
<p>Maker, where the hell did <i>that</i> come from?</p>
<p>You gulp as his free hand roams to the hollow of your throat, finger glancing off the necklace entangled in itself below your collarbone. You shiver, just once, as his gloved index finger traces the marks the intruder left behind. You don’t see them until in the mirror later than night, and they’ve faded almost entirely. You don’t know for sure what he sees, because even though he’s reflective on nearly every surface, light inside the Razor Crest is low, and you’re too distracted by both of his hands roaming two different parts of your body. </p>
<p>“You’re breathing,” he says, finally, and a giggle escapes from your throat at the obviousness of his statement. “Now you’re laughing. I don’t think there’s any lasting damage.”</p>
<p>“Thank you,” you say, fighting another one bubbling up in your throat, and you freeze again as he gently lifts your shirt back down over the injury, letting his finger on your throat trail off as he lets you go. Something shifts. Your heart is still galloping in your chest. “Thank you,” you say again, suddenly emotional. “Thank you for coming back…When you did.”</p>
<p>He just pauses. You don’t know what he’s doing under that helmet, but you can imagine he’s looking at you. Straight at you. His silence is different this time, more vibrational. “Tomorrow, we’ll pick you a weapon out of the armory.”</p>
<p>You do a double take. “I get one of your weapons?”</p>
<p>“It’s not as safe on the ship as I thought it was,” he says darkly, and he extends a hand to you as you slowly, achingly, peel yourself off the floor. You pause sitting up as you digest what he’s saying. “You need to be able to protect yourself.”</p>
<p>You look at him, and back at the baby, who started cooing at his side, and the Mandalorian picks his kid up out of the cradle without moving his gaze off you. “I’m…Am I staying on the ship?” </p>
<p>He cocks his head. “You’ve been watching the kid on here, right?”</p>
<p>You nod, then shake your head. “Of course,” you say, trying to explain the shift in your movement, “but I mean…am I staying here? Indefinitely?” You pause, then decide it’s been a hell of a day and you’re brazen enough to ask the next part of your question, “With you?” It flutters inside you, the boldness of the question, especially against the knowledge that you’re testing your theory—that he feels as right with you as you do with him, that when he walked into you, something cosmic happened. </p>
<p>The Mandalorian looks down at you, almost entirely still. Before you can let your nerves get the best of you, he sighs, loose air exiting the modulator, and something sparks low in your tummy, deeper than your injury, and then he’s settled on the floor next to you again. “Yes.”</p>
<p>You smile, wince at the gesture as your throat constricts, and then resume the position, ache be damned. “Okay.” </p>
<p>“Can you make it up the ladder?”</p>
<p>You slowly shake your head. “I think I’m sleeping on the floor tonight.”</p>
<p>“You always sleep on the floor.”</p>
<p>“Not true,” you answer, shaking a finger at him. “Sometimes, I fall asleep in the chair. But yeah, I usually nest on the floor.”</p>
<p>“Nest.” The word is flat, even, but there’s something about the way he says it makes you want to giggle again.</p>
<p> “I need to be swaddled in things, usually, to fall asleep. And noise. Noise helps.”</p>
<p>He just stares at you. “Are you a Jawa?”</p>
<p>You furrow your eyebrows, completely lost. It takes full seconds before you realize he was making a joke. You laugh, again, and it hurts to bring a hand to cover your mouth, but you do it anyways. “I just like a little hodgepodge to sleep in. I don’t strip things for parts,” you counter.</p>
<p>“Obviously,” he says, his voice rich and deep. Something about the way he says it burns low inside you. This is the most the Mandalorian has ever spoken to you. This might be the most the Mandalorian has ever spoken, if how little he exchanged any language was indicative of how he’s spent most of his life. “Stay here.”</p>
<p>You smile again, because where else would you go, and he climbs the ladder. With how quickly he cuts his conversations short, you think he just decided he’s done talking for the day, and he’s going upstairs to set the ship on the next course, so you settle into the corner of the ship where you still are, just feet away from the alcove where he sleeps. You wonder what it looks like in there, if there’s only enough space for his hulking figure, or if you could shimmy your way into there next to him, your body pressed up against his in the tiny space—Stars, you’re letting your mind wander. </p>
<p>“No chance,” you whisper to yourself, despite the pull deep in your chest, that humming, that warmth that he gives you, despite how distanced he’s been from you. “Get it together.”</p>
<p>A moment later, shiny feet descend the ladder, and your water flask is pressed into your hand, and the Mandalorian has something in his hands. It’s a blanket, one you stole from the tiny medbay when you first climbed aboard. It’s unmade and he also has what looks like a small pillow in his other hand. He drops them, gently, at your crossed legs. “For your…nest.”</p>
<p>You smile, again, and if you tried hard, really hard, you could imagine that he was smiling under all that metal, too. </p>
<p>“Thank you.”</p>
<p>He nods, still standing awkwardly. “You should take the bed.”</p>
<p>You look to the closed alcove where his cot is, to him, and back again. “No,” you say, “no, that’s yours, and hauling myself off the floor right now is simply not an option. Thank you, though.”</p>
<p>He just stands there. </p>
<p>“Really,” you emphasize, even though the pull in your stomach wants very badly to climb in his bed and fossilize yourself in there, because he’s still standing there, talking to you, and you would trade almost anything in the galaxy for as many minutes as possible of this. </p>
<p>He sinks back onto the floor with you. The baby is now sound asleep in his cradle. You don’t know what to say next, but the Mandalorian doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere. Your belly still aches, and your throat feels raw, but you can’t keep the smile off your face. It’s warm in the crest, warm enough that you don’t need to swaddle yourself in the blanket, and you look down at your chest, the white tank top you bought months beforehand stained blue and black with blood and grease. You probably shouldn’t have blown your scarce credits that was going to get stained so easily, but you didn’t know you’d be living with a bounty hunter and his baby when you first got it. </p>
<p>“Where are we going next?” you ask, and you’re not sure how much time has elapsed. The Mandalorian doesn’t speak, and you think maybe he’s faded off into sleep, and you reach up, wincing, to pile your loose hair on the top of your head. </p>
<p>“You missed a piece.”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>He hasn’t even moved. “Hair.”</p>
<p>You fumble with your fingers until you find the rogue lock of hair, shorter from where you hacked bangs into it nearly a year ago when you had first lost your other ship. It’s hanging in your face, and you don’t reach to move it, letting it tangle with your eyelashes. You can feel his eyes on you, it’s burning a sudden and violent hole through you. Again, that spark low in your pelvis sings, and your breath hitches in your throat. </p>
<p>The Mandalorian barely moves, just extending his arm in the dark to tuck it behind your ear. You sigh as his hand brushes against your cheek, the gloves smelling like dirt and leather and something uniquely him. You feel his touch everywhere. And then his fingers are gone as quickly as they arrived, and you have to take the lingering of the touch he gave you as proof that it happened at all. </p>
<p>“You should get some sleep,” he says, and his voice through the modulator spirals deep into you. You want to know what it sounds like under the helmet. You want to know what a lot is like under the helmet. You want to argue with him, keep him talking, but sleep is calling your name louder than he’s speaking, and you’re sliding down the wall, trying to curl up in the most comfortable position. </p>
<p>The last thing you remember before drifting off is the Mandalorian moving quietly to cover you in the blanket he brought down, settling back into the dark quiet of his ship, pulsing not even a foot away from where you slept.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>CHAPTER 3 WILL BE UP ON SATURDAY EVENING JANUARY 16TH!</p>
<p>xoxo</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. To Trust</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“What…” he starts.</p><p>“You got hit—” you interrupt.</p><p>“…Are you wearing?” Mando finishes, and your cheeks flush, looking down at his giant shirt you never changed out of. </p><p>“I was—when you called, I was in the fresher,” you say, scooting slightly closer to him, resting on both knees. “I didn’t have time to put anything else on before you told me to hide.”</p><p>“Oh,” he sighs, and then he’s pushing himself off the floor despite literally every single warning you spurt at him, and finally, he’s up against the same wall you’re leaning against. The space is small, small enough that two people would be pushing it, and the fact that one of those people is much larger than the other and in giant beskar armor means that your forehead is almost flush against the visor when he turns his head into you. Your breath catches in your chest. It’s not lost on you that in the heat of the moment, you didn’t run. You ignored where you were, and you forged on to save him. That didn’t happen the last time you were on this planet and the fact that belonging to something—to someone—was enough to push past the fear and do it anyway sung inside you.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you all so much for your wonderful response to Something More!!! it makes my heart ache in the best way :') i hope you enjoy this chapter update! if you have any burning questions or anything you'd like to talk about related to this (or The Mandalorian in general) i'll be hanging around my tumblr https://www.tumblr.com/blog/amiedala all night to talk! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The baby is in your face. You startle awake to a sea of green. He babbles as you jolt up, clapping his tiny hands together in celebration. He’s all swaddled up in his own robes, but he’s so much warmer than you are, and you groan as he hops up against you, fingers beating around your arm as you bring him in closer to your chest, hoping to leech off his warmth. Slowly, painfully, you push yourself off the ground and push on your neck to make it crack, the pain shooting up behind your eyes like starfire. You don’t want to see what shape your belly’s in. </p><p> “Good morning,” you slur through sleep, as the baby giggles and pushes into you. You just stay there, half awake, slouched against the wall of the ship, when suddenly the baby is being plucked from your arms and you’re staring into beskar. </p><p>It’s not lost on you that you’re at eye level with the Mandalorian’s crotch, and while you try your hardest to not let your gaze linger there in an obvious way, your eyes stutter once or twice looking up to where the helmet is.</p><p>“You’re awake.”</p><p>“Barely.”</p><p>He kneels so that you’re almost at eye level, and he’s dangerously close to you again. You feel your cheeks flush, the rush low in your belly, deeper than your injury, deep down somewhere warm. </p><p>“I need to see you.”</p><p>“Huh?” You manage, and hope it’s not as croaky as it seems. </p><p>“Your stomach. I need to make sure you don’t need a shot or to get checked out by a professional.”</p><p>You nod as his fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, going slow, giving you a chance to stop him if you want. You want to sit on your hands and just let him take it all the way off, but you try to focus your brain elsewhere. Literally anywhere else. You fail. His hands are just as large as last night. </p><p>“You’re telling me you’re not a professional?”</p><p>“I know how to take care of injuries. I mean… a nurse droid, or something.”</p><p>“Last time I checked, this was an injury,” you pressed, a smile breaking out of your face faster than you can control it. “And you hate droids.”</p><p>“The injuries I usually take care of are my own. I can gauge how bad the pain is, how deep the cut goes. I’m not inside you,” he says, and it’s so fast that you think you imagined it, “so I can’t tell how bad it is.”</p><p>You blink at him, stunned into silence. Your heart is so loud and fast you’re terrified he can hear it. In the background, the baby is staring at you with his giant, magic eyes, and you know he can hear it, the little womp rat, the way he’s smiling at you. “Not bad.”</p><p>The Mandalorian taps your stomach, not enough to really hurt you, but enough to startle the bruise. You wince. “Bad,” he says, simply, point proven. </p><p>You let him check you out and argue about how it wasn’t that bruised, and it ached but you could move, and finally, very begrudgingly, he lets you stand. You tried to gesture him up the ladder to the cockpit, but he shook his head, arms crossed. </p><p>“You first.” </p><p>You squint at him, shocked by his brazenness, shocked that he’s insinuating watching below you as you ascend the ladder, and your tummy does full back flips before you realize that he’s probably waiting to make sure you have enough working muscles in your abdomen to keep yourself upwards as you climb. You’re thankful you’re going up first, now, with the way you’re blushing again.</p><p>The ladder is a beast, but you’re up, and you’re not hurting that bad, so you make your way over to the chair where you usually hold the baby and fall into it. The ship is hurtling through hyperspace, smoother than the X-Wing did, but still shakily, and you have to avert your eyes from the rush of it because it’s starting to make you dizzy. Something brushes your leg, and you realize it’s the Mandalorian’s cape, worn and tattered, but fluttering past you even in the cockpit, and you bring a knee to your aching chest to hide your smile as he breezes past you to the pilot’s seat. </p><p>“Are you hungry?”</p><p>You can’t tell who he’s talking to until the baby looks at you, bug-eyed and questioning. “Not really.”</p><p>“You need to eat something.”</p><p>“I will. I can’t eat too soon after I wake up or I get sick. I don’t think vomiting would do my stomach any favors.”</p><p>He cocks his helmet back at you and you smile again, jutting your chin into your hand. He’s silent, but it isn’t an unsettling one. After sleeping a foot from him last night, you don’t think his silence will ever make you feel unsettled or uneasy again. It’s just there, permeating, surrounding both of you. You want to ask him a million things, and you don’t know which one to pick, but you also don’t want to force anything through the quiet. </p><p>It feels like hours have passed by the next time you open your mouth. You want to ask him where you’re headed again, but what falls out instead is, “Do you even know my name?”</p><p>He looks back at you, swings his helmet back to center, and then spins the entire chair around instead. “What?”</p><p>“I’ve been living here for almost a month,” you realize, counting the days on your fingers. “I babysit your kid. You trust me with your ship,” you say, looking up at the stars flying past the Crest. “Do you know my name?”<br/>
He stares at you. The helmet is obscuring his vision, but you know he’s staring at you. You can feel his eyes on your face, looking how your lips are parted, your hair still piled in a mess on your head.</p><p>“Of—” he starts, and then both of you are thrown sideways. Something on the dashboard is blaring, and before you can haul yourself off the floor, the Mandalorian is extending a hand to you as he navigates the ship out of hyperspace. You scramble back to the chair and buckle in, grabbing onto the baby’s floating cradle so that he won’t get knocked around either. You want to ask if the Mandalorian needs your help, but as quickly as the ship fell into disarray, the beeping stops. Your heart is hammering. </p><p>“What was that—?”</p><p>“I forgot about the shields,” he muttered under his breath, and then you look outside the window, and you realize where you are. You swallow, looking out at the planet in front of you, wide and purple and all-encompassing. You fold your legs up under yourself, not focused on anything except where you’re headed. There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, hungry and roaring. </p><p>“Hey,” his voice filters back in, and it’s sharp, and you look over at him, trying to look neutral. You can tell it’s not working. “Did you hurt yourself when you fell again?”</p><p>“No,” you whisper, and then repeat it louder, “No, I’m okay. I just wasn’t expecting to…be back here anytime soon.”</p><p>The Crest pulls through the planet’s atmosphere, and you breathe a sigh of relief that you aren’t anywhere close to the heart of Galactic City, that wherever the bounty’s new coordinates were, it was on the opposite side of where you had been the last time you were here. Besides, you were staying on the ship, and you didn’t have to breathe any of the air of the planet if you didn’t want to. You swallow, and as he pulls into a landing bay, you realize the Mandalorian’s helmet is still trained on you.</p><p>“You’re not a fan,” he says. It’s not a question. “Of Coruscant.”</p><p>“No,” you say, and you don’t elaborate because you’re not sure if you can without your voice shaking.</p><p>He keeps his visor trained on you, and you try to smile, but you’re afraid it’ll come out looking more like fear. “I’ll be quick,” he says, and his voice is low, honest. It reminds you of the way he talks to the kid, not to you, but you’re too shaken by being thrown out of hyperspace and landing on the planet you almost died on to understand the significance of his cadence. “Come downstairs with me.”</p><p>You follow him, aware of his gaze on your body as you descend the ladder. In any other circumstance, you could feel it burning straight through you, but you were too focused on trying not to fall. Silently, you match his footsteps as he walks over to the armory. His body is so large, so present, that you focus on the beskar and try to keep moving. The Mandalorian pushes a lever and the armory opens, and you blink at all the metal as your eyes adjust. </p><p>“Pick one.”</p><p>Hazily, you remember he told you to pick a weapon last night, and you let your eyes survey all the glinting metal before you settle on a small blaster, one that looks like a cousin of the one you lost in your crash landing. Similar enough to be strapped to your thigh in the same belt you still have around your waist, and you fit it in there triumphantly. You give the Mandalorian a half smile, and he nods, shutting the case.<br/>
It’s dark in the Razor Crest, even in Coruscant’s glitz and glamour. You rest your head against the wall, suddenly exhausted. </p><p>“I’ll be quick,” the Mandalorian repeats after prolonged silence, after you’ve made it clear you aren’t going to say anything else. “You stay here, with the doors locked. Sleep more, if you need it.” He tosses you something, and you don’t catch it in time. You bend down to grab it, but his hand is already around it, glancing off your hand for a second too long as he presses it into your palm. “This is to be used for emergencies,” he says. You stare at it. It’s a commlink, a new, fancy one. You nod. “If… if something happens, or if…” he trails off, cocking his head at you, “if I need you to come get me, you just press this button, and you can talk to me.”</p><p>He lingers for a second longer and then descends the gangplank, and it isn’t until he’s gone that his words fully register. </p><p>If you have to come get him? That’s new. </p><p>“Hey!” you call, and you know he can’t hear you anymore, but you can’t help yourself, “what constitutes as an emergency?”</p><p> </p><p>Hours pass. One, slowly, and then two, and then three. You finally eat, you make sure the baby has too. You think about showering, but you haven’t been able to lift your arms above your head since you got your stomach bruised yesterday, so you lay spread eagled on the floor babbling halves of songs and whatever random thought runs through your head. You do everything you can to not look outside at the planet around you, to ruminate on the sleek buildings. You haven’t been on Coruscant for years, not since you were first out on your own when you were still a teenager, and you’ve tried everything in you to forget what happened the last time you were on the planet’s surface.</p><p>The baby coos at your feet, and you prop yourself up on your forearms, still sore. It doesn’t ache as much as it did this morning, and your bruises have turned this ugly yellow color around the edges, but you can flex without agony, which definitely means you’re just banged up. </p><p>“Hi bug,” you say, and he giggles, climbing up onto your sore belly, and you groan. “Hi. What’s up?”</p><p>He makes a series of noises, and you can’t understand him like his father clearly can, but you can gather the gist of what he’s saying. He’s babbling away, now pointing his tiny finger up to the ceiling, and you pretend you know exactly what he means.</p><p>“You’re absolutely right. Mhm, yep, I know. Is that true?”</p><p>He claps his hands together.</p><p>“You’re right, again, you little womp rat. Excellent point.”</p><p>He giggles.</p><p>“You’re much cuter than a womp rat, you know.” You pause. “I gotta tell you though, buddy, I don’t know what a womp rat looks like.”</p><p>He gasps, all awe. You look at him. There’s something about the kid, something magical, something that feels…elevated. You look into his big eyes, and you see yourself. You know that it’s because the things are huge, but it’s that same gnawing intuition in your belly that you had when you first met the Mandalorian, the same one that told you to crash land on Nevarro instead of trying to make it somewhere else, the same one that got you out of Coruscant the last time—you shake your head, trying to clear it from your head. You softly touch the baby’s nose, just once, and he giggles and climbs into your arms. </p><p>It doesn’t take long until you start itching for something else to do, so you peel yourself off the cockpit’s floor and start cleaning, using part of your torn shirt to dust off the dashboard and the pilot’s seat, humming ancient lullabies under your breath. You stop short when you realize you’re singing, and you double check the air locks, making sure you’re safe in here. You don’t dare to put on the radio, and you don’t sing louder than under your breath, because even though you have the new blaster strapped to your hip, the memory of yesterday is still too recent in your head. It isn’t long until you find yourself in the tiny room where the fresher is, looking at yourself in the mirror for the first time in days. </p><p>Your eyes are wild, that’s the first thing you notice. Frazzled, on edge, the kind of gleam that you used to get flying in the Alliance, but without the pride and the adrenaline. Your hair is a hot mess. You touch the lock of hair the Mandalorian pushed behind your ear last night, reverently, softly. Your shirt is ripped and stained to hell, and your necklace is hanging at a strange angle, the chain link touching the insignia, totally off kilter. You see the small blaster on your hip catch the light, and you pull it out of its hold. It’s shiny, sturdy, and much newer than the one you lost in the fire. You’ve never been a perfect shot, but the gun fits in your hand as well as the old one did, and when you hold it, you feel confident enough to know how to cock it back and pull the trigger, and you think you probably hit the target. </p><p>You look forlornly at the shower, and before you can think about how sore you are, you strip the rest of your clothes off, leaving the gun and the commlink on the small counter beside the mirror. You’re planning to be quick, just a rinse and scrubbing soap off of the leftover blood and grime from the night before, but when the water hits, it’s warm and inviting and it envelops you. You let it unfurl your messy hair from your head, let it permeate into your sore shoulders and all the way down your spine, temporarily washing away the years of nights spent sleeping in uncomfortable positions on makeshift beds. You touch your fingers over your belly, following the scar straight down to where it drifts off on the left side of your stomach. It doesn’t hurt anymore, but the bruises resist your fingers. You reach for the soap, and it’s blindly, and you don’t realize until you’ve been scrubbing for a minute that it’s very much not the subtle lavender scent you picked up a few bounties back, but the Mandalorian’s. It smells like clean wood and leather and strangely, cinnamon, that amalgamation of freshness that fades off skin slowly. You push the full bar up to your nose, and when you breathe in you can almost see it lathering into his skin, can almost feel your tongue licking clean up against it if he was in here with you—you catch yourself. Again. It’s there again, the arousal and want that had been long dormant before you ever met the Mandalorian. He’s infiltrated everything. You shake water out of your hair and think of anything else while your hands slip down the rest of your body, trying and failing to forget the way his voice got low when he found you hurt, how he touched you, how he held your throat with a singular hand—</p><p>Something is making noise, and you force yourself out of your fantasy to the sound. “Hey,” comes a disembodied voice, and your wet hand fumbles for the blaster before you realize it’s coming from the commlink. You sigh, turning off the water, tripping out of the fresher, scrambling to pick it up. </p><p>“Are you okay?”</p><p>“I need you to come get me.”</p><p>You stare at the commlink, then at your reflection in the mirror. You don’t have clothes on. Come to think of it, you don’t know if you have clothes to change into, and you’ve suddenly been promoted to getaway driver.</p><p>“Can you hear me?”</p><p>Even through the modulator, his voice is deep. You startle yourself out of your reverie. </p><p>“Yes. I’m sorry. I need a minute—”</p><p>“I’m going to give you coordinates,” the Mandalorian says, and then there’s a huge blast, and silence.</p><p>“Hey. Hey! Mando—”</p><p>“I’m here,” he says, but it’s gruff. “Dank ferrik. I’m hit. Here are the coordinates.” </p><p>You scramble out of the fresher, looking for clothes. You can’t find anything, and your bag must still be upstairs in the cockpit, so you shove open the alcove where the Mandalorian sleeps in a desperate attempt. There’s a shirt, just a shirt, but it falls to your knees and you make your compromise with the underwear you stepped out of before the shower. “I’m coming. Please hold on. Pleaaaaase hold on,” you whisper, low enough that you hope he can’t hear your wheedling, and then you’re up the ladder, your hair wet and wild, dripping on the cockpit floor. </p><p>“Do you have your blaster?”</p><p>“Um,” you say as you navigate the Crest out of the landing bay—hell, this ship doesn’t know how to move. “Yes?” You scramble down the ladder and back up again with your blaster in hand. You punch in the coordinates and let the ship go into autopilot as you scramble back down the ladder and grab the gun, wrapping your wet hair up in a towel. </p><p>“Grab the kid and put him in his cradle,” the Mandalorian says, and you do, and the wild look in the baby’s eyes makes you give him a quick kiss before you shut the crib and push him into the darkest corner. </p><p>“I’m almost here,” you say, and you can see what he was talking about. You’re still not near the hustle and bustle of Galactic City, but Coruscant has layers, each of them grittier than the last. The Mandalorian is attached to what you hope to the Maker is his quarry, lugging the conspicuous body up a hill, blasting at what looks like twenty other men. “I’m here. I’m gonna land—”</p><p>“You need to get out of sight,” he manages, and the commlink goes quiet. You do your best to land the ship—it’s not handling well at all—and then scamper down the ladder for the third time in wet feet. You grab the baby’s floating egg and your blaster, strapping the commlink to your wrist, and scrambling into the little alcove that holds the Mandalorian’s bed. </p><p>There’s a minute before he enters the ship, and everything is quiet. You huddle at the back of the chamber, the baby next to you with the blaster in your hand. Your towel has come loose and there are wet chunks of hair in your face, and you wait in the silence before he comes in. The cot is tiny, and not that comfortable, but this small space smells like his soap and the dirt he carries around, and despite it feeling lumpy in all the wrong place, you could absolutely fall asleep here, surrounded by him. It distracts you, and you hum lowly in your throat before you hear the hiss of the gangplank and you swallow all the air. </p><p>You’ve been seen by bounties before, they’ve made comments about you, and then they’ve been frozen in carbonite. A few looked dangerous, a few were just creepy, but the Mandalorian always let you handle yourself around them. This is the first time he’s ever told you to get out of sight, and you don’t know if it’s because the events of last night are still fresh in his mind, or because whoever he captured was dangerous. You wait with bated breath as you hear blows land, and when it’s been quiet for what you gauge is long enough before you peek out of the alcove. The Mandalorian is on the ground, and you can’t tell if he’s just resting after a fight until someone peeks back at you and you pull the trigger the second the alcove doors fly open. You rocket up on your knees, punching one arm out at a swaying body before he hits the ground, and the Mandalorian comes to. The man on the ground is livid, swinging at your bare feet, and you kick him backwards, not gracefully, but powerfully enough, and he collides with the carbonite gas, and before the Mandalorian can get to his feet, you press the button. The blue faced bounty is frozen, instantly, and you gasp in air as you sag back on the Mandalorian’s bed. </p><p>“What did I say about getting out of sight?”</p><p>“I did,” you manage, between gasps, “and then you got knocked out.”</p><p>He trains his visor on you, and you smile victoriously for a full second before you realize his hand is bloody. You follow it down to the slip in the beskar and see that there’s a nasty gash under where his hand is pressed. </p><p>“You’re hurt.” You scramble forward, grabbing the towel off your head. Your hair falls in your face, and it definitely smells like his soap, but you’re not sure if he’s conscious enough to notice. “Hey. Hey you. Mando. Stay awake.” </p><p>“’M fine,” he slurs, and you want to pull the helmet clean off his head and look into his eyes when you tell him to shut up. </p><p>“Definitely not fine,” you say, pulling him down to the ground with you. It’s messy, you know that much, and you know he has some bacta patches hidden around you, but you need the bleeding to stop. “Hey. Listen to me. I have to take this off,” you say, gesturing at the plate at his midriff. “You’re hit, I think it was a blast, but I need to make sure.”</p><p>“No,” he says, and you grab his visor and drop to your knees on his left side, pushing your palm flat against it.</p><p>“I’m not going to look at anything except the cut. You weren’t hit in the head, were you?”</p><p>“No,” he repeats, and you nod.</p><p>“Okay, then I’m not gonna see your face. I won’t look at anything else on your skin except the cut. But you’re losing blood, fast, and there’s definitely people shooting at the ship, and I need to make sure you’re okay before I get us the hell out of here.” </p><p>He nods. It’s small, but you catch it.</p><p>You inhale sharply when you lift the small piece of armor. He’s bleeding, but the wound is small, and you’re able to shove the towel on it to suffocate the blood while your hand flutters around in the small hold behind you until you can find ointment and the bacta patches. “Hey. Mando.” His hand finds your free wrist, and you stop investigating the ointment to look at him. “What?” you ask, your voice softer. </p><p>“Cauterize,” he manages, and you look back and forth between him and the wound, and you shake your head. </p><p>“It’s not that bad,” you promise, checking to see if the blood has started to clot around the wound. “Look, it’s gonna hurt for a few days, but the bleeding is slowing down, and I can give you this ointment and then put the bacta patch over it, and you’re going to be okay.”</p><p>He flails at your arm again, and before you can realize what you’re doing, you straddle him, one hand on his abdomen against the stifled wound, and one reaching up to touch his helmet, as lightly as you can, in some desperate attempt to soothe him, “I promise, I know when a wound needs cauterizing.” You point at your own stomach, hoping he’ll remember the scar. He nods again, and you exhale. “I swear, I’m going to fix it right now, okay?”</p><p>You pull the towel away and press the ointment into his skin. You can tell it stings, he hisses and groans through the modulator, and if you weren’t so preoccupied with trying to save his life, your brain would have fixated on the noises he was making as you straddled him. Once the bacta patch was secure and you were sure that it held, your fingers grazed over his bare skin. It was golden, soft to the touch, such a stark contrast to the shiny silver beskar exoskeleton that you stopped just for a moment to stare at it. You touched as lightly as you could, and once you were positive that he had stopped bleeding, you pulled his undershirt down and reattached the armor, sliding sideways off of him, resting against the same wall for the second time in two days.</p><p>It took a few minutes and lots of nervous babbling from the baby, but the Mandalorian finally eased himself back into consciousness, and when you heard him stir, you whipped around.</p><p>“What…” he starts.</p><p>“You got hit—” you interrupt.</p><p>“…Are you wearing?” Mando finishes, and your cheeks flush, looking down at his giant shirt you never changed out of. </p><p>“I was—when you called, I was in the fresher,” you say, scooting slightly closer to him, resting on both knees. “I didn’t have time to put anything else on before you told me to hide.”</p><p>“Oh,” he sighs, and then he’s pushing himself off the floor despite literally every single warning you spurt at him, and finally, he’s up against the same wall you’re leaning against. The space is small, small enough that two people would be pushing it, and the fact that one of those people is much larger than the other and in giant beskar armor means that your forehead is almost flush against the visor when he turns his head into you. Your breath catches in your chest. It’s not lost on you that in the heat of the moment, you didn’t run. You ignored where you were, and you forged on to save him. That didn’t happen the last time you were on this planet and the fact that belonging to something—to someone—was enough to push past the fear and do it anyway sung inside you. </p><p>“I know,” the Mandalorian says, and you inhale, hoping you didn’t just unintentionally say all of that out loud. </p><p>“What?”</p><p>He sighs, and it comes out through the modulator, but he’s not annoyed. You can tell that much through his filtered air—you know when he’s exasperated, and more and more lately, it hasn’t been directed towards you. </p><p>“Your name.” </p><p>You swallow. “Say it.”</p><p>He does. Perfectly. “It suits you. Names…Mine has only been shared once since I became a Mandalorian. I was on my deathbed, and that’s the only reason. I haven’t named the kid. He might already have one, but I don’t know it, so I don’t use it.”</p><p>You nod against the visor, your head touching his helmet. The beskar is surprisingly warm, and you pause there for a second, not wanting to move it away. </p><p>“Names don’t hold significance to me,” he whispers, and it cuts through the darkness of the hull of the ship. “I don’t need them to trust someone.”</p><p>You want to say you understand, even if you don’t entirely get it, but he sighs again and then you think he’s asleep, his helmet sliding down to the crook between your head and your shoulder. If you reached with your pinky, it could interlink with his gloved one, and you wait a few minutes to be sure he’s okay. When you hook his pinky with yours, he breathes, cinches it at the knuckle, and fades off into sleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>the next chapter dives into both Mando &amp; the narrator's backstories! and we dip our toes into steamy ;) see you next week, same time, same place!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Protectors</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Too bad,” you manage, finally, hoping that your voice doesn’t break, “you protect me, I protect you, give and take, Mando, that’s how this works—” </p><p>And then you stop because his hands are on you. So fast. Lightning quick. One grabs at your side, thumb pressing lightly against where your scar bottoms out on the left of your abdomen, the other on the right side of your face, fingers tangled in the mess of your hair. You gasp, shudder, and breathe out as he grabs you. As easily as he squeezes, though, his grip detracts to barely there at all, and he slowly pushes you back against the wall. Every nerve on your body is on fire. You breathe, uneven and desperate, as his grip on your hip trails up your side until he has both big hands cupped against your face. </p><p>He’s eclipsing you. All you can see in your line of vision is him, and, peripherally, the distorted reflection of your heaving chest pressed up against the cool beskar, everything swallowed up by him. It’s devastating. It’s everything. You can barely breathe.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>surprise, another early update! ;) chapter 5 will still be going up at 7:30 pm EST on Saturday January 23rd! </p><p>we are starting to get into the steamy stuff &amp; there is SO much left to come!! thank you all from the bottom of my heart for taking this adventure with me! i hope you love it! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You dream about him that night. </p><p>Well, you’ve dreamed of him every night. It started when you fell asleep face to face, and now he lives in your head. You think some crucial part of it has been wiped clean simply for the sheer space of memory that’s just him. You don’t even know his name. You don’t know how old he is. You don’t know anything about him except that he’s a Mandalorian, he seems to have had adopted the child, and that he has thrown himself directly in harm’s way for you twice now.</p><p>Thoughts like that live on while you sleep. Vibrantly so. Sometimes, the dream changes and you’re on top of him, or those huge hands are inside you, or you hear him gritting out your name through the modulator as he—</p><p>Somehow, you always seem to wake up before anything in the dream can finish. It’s maddening, to say the very least. Everything with him seems to overlap until it doesn’t.</p><p>It’s been a handful of days since your narrow escape on Coruscant, and both of you have healed from your injuries on the planet’s surface. You haven’t been as close to Mando since you slept face to face that night, his head slipped down on your shoulder. When you had woken in the morning, he was gone, and you frantically searched the entirety of the bottom half of the ship for any trace of him leaving before you heard him playing with the baby up the ladder, and when you ascended into the cockpit, you were back in hyperspace.</p><p>You’d been in the air for the most part, only stopping briefly down on planets to refuel and replenish whatever stock of food the three of you needed on the ship. You weren’t sure where you were going next. You don’t even remember asking him where the next planet was, just that you knew you were going somewhere. The two tracking fobs he had left to complete before returning the bounties to the Guild blinked from the dashboard, stuttering out of rhythm ever so slightly. You watched them in the dark, sometimes, when you slept upstairs in the cockpit and tried your best to not let your mind wander to the man sleeping a level below you. </p><p>Sometimes, more often than not now, your hands would slip absentmindedly into your pants and you’d find yourself conjuring up the gruffness of the Mandalorian’s voice when you touched yourself. Twice now, you’ve finished to the memory of him saying, “where did he hurt you”, and it’s an instinct so natural you don’t even realize that you’re getting yourself off to the rhythm of his words until you’re done. Once, he climbed the ladder almost immediately after you finished, and you had to wipe the warm slick off your fingers on your pants when he asked you to hold the baby. They’re still stained, and the thought of him noticing it—or walking in on you while you’re in the act—has occupied almost all of your waking hours. </p><p>It’s better on ruminating on how narrowly you escaped getting hurt by the thug a few weeks back, or on your mind reliving every single memory of how badly you handled being alone on Coruscant the last time you were there—two thoughts that you tried very hard to push away—until the Mandalorian brings it up, almost a full week later. </p><p>“You did good,” he says, and you have no idea what he means. For a split second, you think he’s talking about you touching yourself last night, and you have to stifle a yelp when you ask him what he means. “Back on Coruscant. The ship doesn’t handle easy.”</p><p>“Oh,” you say, “thank you. I think the Crest has something against me.”</p><p>He doesn’t laugh, but you almost think you’re hearing a lighter voice coming through the modulator. “It’s old.”</p><p>“As old as me?”</p><p>He looks back at you, and you swear you can feel his gaze locked on you again. “How old are you?”</p><p>You swallow. “Twenty-five.”</p><p>The Mandalorian keeps his visor on you for a second, and then turns back to the front, focusing on the space you’re hurtling through. </p><p>“The ship is older than you,” he confirms.</p><p>“Explains why it’s so cranky.”</p><p>He looks back at you, and you giggle. A few moments pass, and he says, “so am I.”</p><p>You don’t know what you’re supposed to do with that information, quite honestly. Are you supposed to ask him how old he is? Maybe he’s seventy under the armor. Until you saw his stomach back on Coruscant, you often wondered if he looked exactly like the baby under there, or if he was a Quarren or a Gungan or something else entirely alien. </p><p>It takes you a minute, but you finally ask, “Are you younger than the ship?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Are you twice the ship’s age?”</p><p>The Mandalorian looks back at you again, and if you weren’t hurtling through hyperspace and the Razor Crest wasn’t mostly running on autopilot, you would have cracked a joke about distracted driving. </p><p>“No.”</p><p>“But you’re older than the baby,” you joke.</p><p>He pauses again. “The kid is fifty.”</p><p>“<i>What</i>?” you shriek, and turn, betrayed, to the little green child hovering innocently in his egg next to you. He coos. You look back and forth between them, incredulous, and then a <i>laugh</i> filters out of the modulator. </p><p>“I don’t know how he ages. But he’s definitely still a baby.”</p><p>“Maker,” you say, still flummoxed. “Baby, you don’t look a day over thirty.” He coos at you, and you grin, folding your knees up to your chest in the chair. </p><p>“The kid is older than me,” Mando says, and then all attention is on him again. </p><p>“Well,” you manage, “then we’re working with a gap of twenty-five years.” </p><p>It seems the conversation is over, and you’ve been preoccupied with the kid, when Mando finally speaks again. </p><p>“I don’t know,” he says, and you look at him, curious, confused, “how old I am exactly.”</p><p>You’re about to ask what he means when the ship lurches again, and both of you are thrown sideways. You had strapped yourself in this time. You didn’t want a repeat of Coruscant, in any capacity. The way the Crest handled was atrocious. It was an old, cantankerous piece of junk, and it seemed to defy every other order either of you gave it. It also decided to blindside you out of nowhere, which was… well, it was like both your dirty subconscious and your conversations with Mando that teetered on something more, right before you hit the impact. Mando hauled the navigation drive up, and suddenly you were all right side up again.<br/>
“What was that?” You manage, blowing rogue hair out of your face.</p><p>He pointed. “Asteroid field.”</p><p>You squinted out the window. “Where are we?”</p><p>The Mandalorian was silent for a minute, and you didn’t push him. You weren’t in any rush for him to leave again, if you were being quite honest with yourself, and were soaking in all the tiny moments of the two of you cohabitating the ship for as long as you possibly could. </p><p>“Jakku.”</p><p>You hadn’t ever been on Jakku. You knew that it was a dry, hot wasteland like Tatooine, but that all the Rebel connections here had dried up over the years, and it had lots of small outposts where scavengers could bring practically anything dug up from the sand to make a little money. It was also worlds away from Coruscant, which was probably why it had taken so long to get here. Truthfully, it sounded dangerous in ways that you’d always feared the heat for, and your stomach flipped over a little in the recognition that he was probably going to leave again. You had been so spoiled with the last few missions—they had taken hours, and not one had swallowed up a full day, let alone weeks. He had warned you when you first joined that he could be gone for a week if he were tracking someone particularly difficult to locate, and the small sadness that pained in your gut when you barely knew Mando was a blip compared to the wrench you felt whenever he left your line of sight now. Seeing him get hurt, having to pull him back from that—you hated it. You hated knowing that he wasn’t infallible, regardless of that big shiny armor and the combination of his stealth and quickness. You wanted to tell him it, sometimes, that you hated seeing him leave, but there was still that anxious twang that came attached to how deeply you felt every single interaction, how you make things out of nothing, and you don’t think you could take it if he ever rejected you. </p><p>“Is the bounty…difficult?”</p><p>Mando seems to deliberately not hear your question, and something flares deep inside you, allowing you to pretend his resistance is because he doesn’t want to admit he doesn’t want to leave you, either, but you swallow and try to be patient. </p><p>“Not as difficult as the last one.”</p><p>“How dangerous is he?”</p><p>Mando takes a second with that one, too, and you aren’t prepared for him to turn towards you. His visor pauses on you, just for a moment, and you offer up a half smile. You have no idea if he’s reciprocating under the mask, when he finally answers. </p><p>“She’s nothing I can’t handle.”</p><p><i>She</i>? That tiny, betrayed part of your mind screams, and you have to fight the urge to physically kick away your jealousy. He’s hunting her. Hunting her down, whoever she is, and bringing her back to the ship in shackles. <i>Stop it</i>, you chastise yourself, <i>what, do you want him to hunt you down? Get it together.</i></p><p><i>Yes</i>, your traitorous, primal possessiveness taunts. <i>Yes, you want him to hunt you.</i></p><p>Maker. You were going to have to square up with this needy, animalistic part of yourself the second Mando left. You were going to kick its ass, because this was absolutely ridiculous—you still hadn’t responded to his last comment.</p><p>“You’re objectively…better than her, right?”</p><p>He looks back at you. “Expand.”</p><p>“You aren’t going to get shot again?”</p><p>Mando’s gaze fixates on you yet again. You swallow dry air.</p><p>“A blaster’s not really her speed.”</p><p>What did <i>that</i> mean?</p><p>The baby babbles. He’s reaching out his tiny green fingers for the ball that rests, perennially unscrewed, on top of one of the levers. Absentmindedly, Mando pops it off and hands it to him. The baby coos as he plays with it, trying to teethe on its smooth metal surface. You watch him as he finds so much joy from one small object, not paying attention to how quickly the Crest is dropping onto Jakku’s wasteland surface.</p><p>You don’t say much. Mando doesn’t say anything. If you try hard, really hard, you can imagine that he’s regretting leaving you and the kid as much as you’re dreading it. You don’t know why you can’t voice any of this out loud. It should be easy, by now, you’ve pretty much become a permanent fixture here. He fell asleep with his head on your shoulder, your fingers intertwined, a few nights ago. He’s offering voluntary information about himself to you now, which is a complete 180 from how stoic in his silence he was when he first brought you on board. He offered up safe delivery out of Nevarro and then refused to let you leave the ship anywhere dangerous. He let you fix a wound on his bare skin—something you know goes against the rumored Mandalorian creed. There’s all these signs, blinking and humming in the back of your mind, that the way you feel around him—something earned, something real, something more—is mutual. You know you attach big stakes to everything, that you think the galaxy has been leaving you signs, when there’s no higher power orienting you to some elevated purpose. But the way the air burns around him, how right you feel with Mando and the baby…you’d bet your life that he felt it too.</p><p>Even just a fraction. Even just in the back of his mind. </p><p>When you make your landing, the ship stubbornly creaks into the uneven sand, and you’re glad you’re still strapped in. The Crest had it out for you. You loved it in the way you’d love an old house—broken and creaky around the edges, but warm enough to still call home. The Mandalorian didn’t ask you to follow him down the ladder this time, but you did anyway, out of some habit you’re trying to force. The baby toddles around the lower deck as he flings himself to his father’s shoes, and you scrunch up your lips to the side, a sore attempt at mimicking his expression. You can’t ask Mando not to leave. This is his job. You’re lucky he didn’t let you get taken out by either of the men that tried to hurt you, or leave you for dead on Nevarro, or kick you out on Coruscant. </p><p>But stars, you <i>want</i> to. </p><p>Somehow, he breaks the silence first. “I’ll be back within a few days.”</p><p>Your heart sinks. “Days?”</p><p>He looks at you, the visor suddenly impenetrable. “She’s dodgy. I’m not expecting to be gone more than three.”</p><p>“What if you are?”</p><p>Silence swells up in the air around you both. Your amateur handling of the Razor Crest on the last planet was only possible because you barely had to get anywhere. Jakku was huge, and incredibly desolate, and you didn’t trust yourself enough to figure out exactly where Mando was if there was a dire emergency. And he’d never told you what kind of quarry he was tracking before, which gave you a sinking suspicion that he wasn’t confident that he’d come back completely unscathed.</p><p>“Here,” he says, finally. His voice is softer through the modulator. He hands you the commlink again, and you wrap it around your wrist, intentional. “Remember—”</p><p>“Only for emergencies?” you interrupt, and give him a soft smile. You can be lenient. You can pretend that you won’t be staring at it for days on end, waiting for his deep voice to crackle across the stars to you. </p><p>“Good girl.”</p><p>He turns, quickly, like ripping off a bandage, which is probably for the best, because you don’t want him to see your knees going weak at his two words, or how that heat he gives you rushed deep down in between your thighs, warm and wet enough to line your underwear. You stand there, mouth open, just gaping at his retreating figure as he walks out into the sand.</p><p>The baby pulls at your leg, and it takes you an embarrassingly long time to yank your jaw off the floor and pay attention to him. He’s started begging for lullabies now, with his big bug eyes, and so you oblige, singing past the devastation and tingling that the Mandalorian has left behind in his wake until the kid is finally asleep. You think he does it so much to self-soothe when his daddy leaves, because he’s usually always awake in his presence. You usually don’t like when the little guy fades off when it’s just the two of you, because at least while he’s awake you can talk out loud to him and not feel like you’re going crazy being cooped up inside the ship, but right now…right now, you have other priorities. </p><p>You make sure that the kid is sleeping soundly, and you walk up the ladder as quietly as you can, trying to get snug under your blankets in the makeshift bed you’ve made in the corner, and when you finally get yourself comfortable, you play the words good girl over and over again in your mind while you slip your fingers down your pants and into the slick between your legs. You try to picture him in your mind, the way he looks under that mask, his eyes trained on you—what color <i>were</i> they?—and rub tight little circles to the sound of his voice, etched in your memory.</p><p>Nothing comes. You can feel it building inside you, that gold rush that sends sparks down your body when you usually orgasm, but right now, it’s like you’re teetering right on the edge. You throw your head back in desperation, in frustration, and you remove your shaking hand for just a second to refocus on him, and when your fingers return to your clit you think this is it, this has to be it—Nothing. </p><p>“You’ve gotta be <i>kidding</i> me,” you exclaim, pressing both hands to your eyes as if the stars to explode there instead. You can feel it building, still, even while there’s absolutely nothing in the way, and no matter what happens, you can’t cum. </p><p>You’re frustrated. You’re very frustrated. In every version of the word. You huff, yanking up your pants too roughly and pacing around the ship’s dark hull. This is all you’ve wanted for days, this small moment of release, and he just gave you the words to get yourself off by just thinking about it, and…nothing? Really?</p><p>You pace and then slide back down the ladder. Maybe you can get outside, just for a few seconds, feel the heat on your face, and maybe that’ll force it to come somewhere else, and you’re tiptoeing past the baby and getting your blaster from the armory, and then you pass the alcove where Mando’s cot is hidden away in, and you’re about to open the airlock—</p><p>Wait. Mando’s bed.</p><p>Your heart catches in your chest, skips a couple beats. This is not good. This is wrong. This is a horrible, dirty, depraved, very bad idea. </p><p>But before you can stop yourself, you’ve pressed your trembling fingers to the button that reveals his bed, and the doors fly open. You throw yourself in quickly, as if that’ll lessen the impact, and you throw yourself down on your back, looking at the ceiling. </p><p>It’s so dark in here. It smells like him. It’s like his soap has scrubbed down the bed, the way it’s wafting through the air. In here, it’s like a holding chamber. If you close your eyes hard enough, you can imagine he’s right there with you, his body large and uncloaked of armor, his skin exposed everywhere but the helmet, his hands on your hips while you’re straddling him like you did the other day to patch up his wound, him saying good girl as he moves inside you—</p><p>Well. Your fingers didn’t even have to slip back into your pants for you to cum this time. </p><p>You bite down on the back of your hand as it ripples through you, your ears absolutely deafened by the way your body vibrates like static. You clap your other hand over the one you’ve sunk your teeth into to simply drown out the sound in hopes that it’ll recede. </p><p>It takes probably five minutes. You sit there, in complete darkness, shell-shocked. The embarrassment and the shame you feel of getting off in someone else’s bed doesn’t even compare to the feeling of doing it. Maker, you’re going to bad places when you die. Bad, dark, awful places. The internal chastising you’re trying valiantly to give yourself fades off into the background as you relive it over and over, imagining him telling you you’re a good girl again, back in this bed, wearing considerably less, when he comes back to you. Visions of him telling he’ll never leave you again dance through your head when, suddenly, you fade off into nothing.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>You didn’t mean to fall asleep. You don’t remember doing it. </p><p>But you wake up, and you’re still in Mando’s bed. You’ve pulled his blanket up around your shoulders, and it’s rough and tattered compared to yours, but you don’t even care. Your skin easily irritates when it’s against fabric that hurts, but you’ll take on the rash for this. You are so snug, so warm, and then it hits you that you’re sleeping in his bed, the same bed that you came all over last night, and you sit up in a panic.<br/>
You check the sheets, and there’s no mess. You haven’t really disturbed the bed at all, really, come to think of it. You lay back down, still groggy with sleep. He said he was going to take a few days. There’s no reason why you couldn’t sleep here tonight, too, maybe you’d even take the baby in here with you—</p><p>The baby. You shoot back up in a panic, suddenly completely awake. When you throw open the door, and launch yourself out of the bed, you find him toddling around on the floor, with that little silver ball he loves so much in his adorable stubby fingers. </p><p>“Baby.”</p><p>He turns to look at you, making noises of recognition when you fall out of his father’s bed, and you pick him up, swinging his tiny green body through the air. </p><p>He coos at you, pulling on the blanket that is somehow still around your shoulders. Dank ferrik. That wasn’t supposed to come with you. You gingerly pry it from his grip. He looks at you, back at the blanket that’s been put back into the alcove, and then his big eyes well up and he starts to cry.</p><p>“No,” you whisper, and then, louder, “no, it’s okay, baby! You don’t need to cry! I’ll—here, I’ll sing you some nice little tunes, and we can dance—” </p><p>At this, he wails even harder, and you wipe away the array of tears with your free hand. He claws towards something, and you pull him into your chest before you realize he wants the blanket. You pull it back out and drape it around his tiny body. “Hey, bug, it’s okay.” You swaddle him the best you can, and then he wipes his tiny nose against the tattered thing, and you try to pull it away before you realize he’s not wiping his nose. He’s sniffing the blanket. The blanket that smells like his dad. And, more recently, you.</p><p>“It’s okay,” you say, soothingly, swinging him from side to side, bringing those big eyes in towards the crook of your shoulder. He clings to it, just a little, but it’s enough to know he wants to stay nestled up there. “You miss your daddy, huh, sweetness?”</p><p>He coos, muffled, against your neck. </p><p>“Me too,” you admit, with no one but the kid and the dark hull of the Crest to hear you. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Another day passes. Then another. You’re starting to go a little stir crazy. If Jakku didn’t scare you, you would have gone outside and taken the baby for a little walk, but you’re still nervous, jumpy leftovers from the last man who had boarded the ship, not to mention that it’s a desert, foreboding wasteland everywhere you could possibly go. You bring him outside at least once a day, though, not even fully on the ground, just down the gangplank, so that you can both have some fresh air and touch something that isn’t shiny metal or whatever scraps of food you’ve been feeding to you both. </p><p>You like the baby. Love him. He rocks. He’s the cutest thing in the entire world. You had sworn off starting a family back when your parents died, because missing them hurt too much and you didn’t want another possibility to make that hurt permanent, but you would sign adoption papers tomorrow if you meant you got to care for the little one forever. His dad was just the bonus, you’d almost convinced yourself, to satiate that hungry, aching, nervous pit in your stomach that grows bigger and bigger every hour Mando’s still not back. </p><p>You’ve cleaned the interior of the ship. Three times. Yesterday, you used the fresher twice, simply for the acoustics of that room, so you could sing and pretend you were giving a show at a cantina, and okay, maybe a little bit for the smell of Mando’s soap on your skin. </p><p>His bed is much more uncomfortable than the nest you’d been sleeping in on the floor, but it smells like him, and it’s warm, and if you close your eyes and push up against the wall, you can imagine it’s him in the beskar enough to get you to sleep. Worry aside, you’ve slept better the past two nights than you have in what feels like years. It’s partly because you’re imagining he’s there, partly because you know you’re safe in here, and partly because this place feels more like home than any other one you’ve ever belonged to. </p><p>You’re starting to get worried, though. You know he insisted that the commlink was only for emergencies, and you didn’t want to distract him on his mission. Or bother him, more likely, the Mandalorian wasn’t a man who got distracted easily, but still, you thought about it. Distracting him. The baby wakes up sometimes, and you pretend to be completely engrossed in attending to his every need, because when he falls asleep or shows more interest in his ball than you, the silence and fear creeps back in. </p><p>Another day passes before you’ve gone on long enough without hearing word. </p><p>“Hey,” you whisper into the commlink. You’re in his bed. Again. You’re not proud of it, but you can’t pry yourself from it. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but—it’s been four days, and she’s dangerous, and I—the baby misses you.”</p><p>You press the button. You hope that’s sufficient. You just sit there, staring at the artificial light in the darkness, tummy flipping over every second that passes where you don’t hear from him.<br/>
It’s been full minutes, and you lay back down. You pull his itchy blanket up to your shoulder, huddle on your side. You’ll keep your wrist next to you in sleep, so he can talk in your ear and wake you up if he needs to—<br/>
“Are you there?”</p><p>His voice is quiet. Through the modulator and the link, you have to strain your ears in the vibrating nothingness to make out the shape of his words.</p><p>“I’m here,” you answer. It spills out of you, too fast.</p><p>“No emergencies,” he says, and you can feel your cheeks flush with the reprimand before you realize it sounds more like reassurance. </p><p>“No emergencies here either,” you manage. “The baby is still as cute as ever. You parked near a good radio station. I’ve been singing to him—”</p><p>“Careful,” he warns, and your heartbeat quickens before you can ask what. “The first word that comes out of his mouth is going to be sung, not spoken.”</p><p>You giggle, the air cutting through the darkness. “Would that be so bad?”</p><p>He’s silent for a minute, and you relax back into his pillow, the commlink pressed up against your face.</p><p>“I don’t think I could handle having both of you singing,” he says, and his voice rumbles through you in a way you can’t place until you remember the baby is fifty and hasn’t even spoken his first word yet. The Mandalorian is signing on for years with you, then, maybe full-on decades, maybe for life, with how slowly the kid progresses—you have to bite down on your lip. </p><p>“Maybe I’ll shut up when he starts.”</p><p>You can hear him shifting. He’s still so quiet. You wonder where he is. You wonder if he’s gotten close to his bounty yet, if she’s anywhere near him—that unfairly jealous part of you roils in your belly, and you push your fist into it as if to shove back the unreasonable thought. </p><p>“That’d be a shame,” he finally says.</p><p>“Do you like my singing?”</p><p>He’s quiet again. You listen through the silence. He speaks so sporadically, it shouldn’t surprise you, but being in anticipation of what comes next is almost as good as the words themselves. “I like your voice.”</p><p>Your voice. That could mean anything. That could mean your singing in the shower or the questions you ask him or the way he makes you giggle or the way you’d moan out his name, if you were ever lucky enough to learn it—you realize you haven’t spoken. “I like yours, too.”</p><p>He’s quiet. He doesn’t speak again. You know how late it is. “Have you slept?” you ask, quietly, just in case he’s fallen asleep.</p><p>“A bit.” You can hear him adjusting. “I’m close to town. I tracked her here.”</p><p>You nod, forgetting he can’t see you. “When do you think you’ll be ba—will have completed the mission?” you ask. You bite your lip in the surrounding silence. </p><p>“By sunrise,” he says. “You better fall asleep. I want you both awake when I return to the ship.”</p><p>Your stomach flips over in excitement, then in dread. “Do I have to hide from her?”</p><p>He’s silent. You slide your thumbnail between your teeth, breath bated in anticipation of his answer. </p><p>“Just be ready,” he finally says. “Don’t hide unless I tell you to.”</p><p>“I’ll anticipate it,” you counter. “I’ll be awake at sunrise.”</p><p>“Set an alarm.” His voice is quick, but you can feel the lightness to it. “Or three.”</p><p>“I’ll have you know,” you say sleepily, “that I can be wide awake at the first alarm when I need to be—” </p><p>“And,” he adds, interrupting you, “stay near my bed in case you do need to hide.”</p><p>Before you can say anything in response to that, the link clicks off. You’re in the darkness, again, that swell in your legs, the buzzing in your ears, the excitement in your heart. The last thing you remember before you fall back asleep is, <i>he’s coming home</i>. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Your name comes from seemingly nowhere, and you jolt up from where you’ve been sleeping. Very comfortably. You wipe sleep from your eyes as you fumble around from the source of it.</p><p>It’s the commlink. Of course. </p><p>“I’m here,” you manage, through your very groggy morning voice. </p><p>“I’m almost back.”</p><p>You dig a heel of your hand into your eye before all the moving parts click together in your mind. That’s Mando’s voice, and it must be close to sunrise, because if he’s heading back, he’s definitely got the bounty. </p><p>“I—where should I go?”</p><p>You don’t hear anything for a long moment, and you hurriedly slide out of his bed, trying to arrange the blanket and pillow in the same formation that it was before you defiled it, and can’t remember enough what it looked like almost five days before but you hope that Mando’s memory has been distracted enough by his hunt that he won’t notice. You find the baby, place him back in his egg, and shake your head firmly when he gives you his big eyes pleading to get down. </p><p>“Where are you?”</p><p>You sleepily survey your surroundings. “I am against the wall.”</p><p>He sighs. “Which wall?”</p><p>“The one across from the fresher. Near your bed.” You feel your cheeks flush with that admission, even though he can’t possibly know that you’ve holed up in there since he’s been gone. </p><p>“And the baby?”</p><p>“He’s beside me.” You pull your gun out, too, and loosely holster it in the belt around your leg. “And I have my blaster.”</p><p>“Good,” he says, and no <i>girl</i> follows it, and despite the circumstances, you feel a twang of sadness. </p><p>“How close are you?”</p><p>The link goes silent. Again. It’s become his modus operandi to just leave you in the lurch, right when you’re on the edge of the conversation, and while it’s hard to get frustrated with him when that pull of sureness inside you is always tuned to the highest frequency, you want to whine about it. </p><p>You cut yourself off. Nope. He’s bringing back a bounty. You cannot get distracted, not now, no matter how bad you want him. Not the time. On a whim, you run into the fresher and you splash water on your face, enough to wake you up and keep you alert. </p><p>There’s a noise outside the ship, and you immediately push the baby’s floating cradle behind you, fingers on your blaster. You could handle whatever was happening. You actually had your fingers on something tangible, and you were a good shot when it came down to it. </p><p>It turns out, the reason why the Mandalorian didn’t tell you how soon he’d be coming back because he was already pretty much there. You tense, then relax upon the first glimpse of the beskar on his helmet you got, and then tens again when the gangplank is lowered down to the hot sand of Jakku. </p><p>She…looks dangerous. She’s a Twi’lek. Long, and slim, a very dangerous shade of purple. The first thing you notice isn’t how alien she looks in comparison to the sand around the gangplank, or how she moves with a confident, seductive swagger, but the way her tongue dances in circles around her teeth. Her canines are sharp, pointed, hungry. </p><p>You didn’t scare easily. You had worked hundreds of jobs with people who had every intention to double-cross and discard you. You faced off against the intruder on the ship with your only instinct to protect the baby in mind, not your own safety. That’s why Mando had brought you aboard. </p><p>But you look at her, and you’re scared. It’s her teeth and the way her eyes lock onto you, immediately, dangerously, like she knows she could intimidate you. And then probably flog you within an inch of your life and leave you for dead. You’d been there before. You knew how it looked.</p><p>“What do we have <i>here</i>?” she purrs, turning around to face Mando. He shoves her, once, roughly, and she steps forward so that his blow won’t hit as hard, tongue tracing the outline of her teeth. “You got yourself a little pet.”</p><p>Your eyes glance in fear to the baby, but the way he looks back at you makes you realize that she was talking about you, not the kid. You thumb your blaster, stepping forward, trying to remain impervious. </p><p>“Hello, there,” she whispers, and you could feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You didn’t want to look away from her—you can just tell, instinctually, that she could strike instantaneously, just lying in wait for a moment of weakness—but you can’t help it. You look at Mando, hoping your raised eyebrow signals your fear and your level of discomfort, and the way his visor locks on you is enough to know he had calculated the risk and knew he could beat her. His hand is still outstretched, slightly, as she meanders over to you. </p><p>“Look, Mando,” she hisses, pointing back and forth between the two of you. Instinctually, you push the baby’s cradle back even further, putting your full hand on your blaster. You glance up at him again, and then catch a flash in the low light of the ship, and realize she’s handcuffed. Even shackled, though, you can see how her sharp teeth glint, how her eyes hold venom you’d never even seen. “Have you taken your helmet off for <i>her</i> yet?”</p><p>He stands there. You have absolutely no idea what you were in the middle of, but suddenly, it felt like you were the outsider here, not her. Your stomach flipped over with the possibilities. <i>Had he taken his helmet off for the bounty? Had he betrayed his creed for her?</i> You swallow, grit your teeth, loading your tongue behind them just in case whatever she gave you next could be responded to. </p><p>“She’s pretty,” she appraises, tongue finding her canine, and before you can react, she lunges close to your face, close enough that you can feel the hot wash of air, clicking her teeth menacingly right in front of your nose. You don’t jump, but the flinch of closing your eyes felt bad enough. You knew it was the wrong move the second your eyes squeezed shut. “Aw, look at that.” She sniffs. You don’t move. “She scares like a little Ewok, Mando, is that why you keep her locked away on the ship—"</p><p>Suddenly, a flash of beskar moves through the air between you two, and the Twi’lek is snapped back, recoiling and hissing at how hard he hit her.</p><p>“I don’t need to remind you that I have no issue bringing you in cold.”</p><p>You recoil at that, how detached and distorted his voice seems. You know that the modulator evens it out, for the most part, and that you tend to imagine his voice comes out softer and warmer to you than anyone else. But right now? Right now, his voice is stone cold. He sounds murderous. Dangerous. Scary. The kind of threat that scared off the man on Nevarro. The kind of threat that you know he gives to his bounties. The kind of threat he’s never once showed to you.</p><p>You swallow. </p><p>“I dare you,” the Twi’lek says, and she turns from you, just for a second, to slide up to him. So much of her skin is reflected in the beskar that it’s turning the entirety of the interior of the Crest purple. “Try to kill me. We both know you need me, whether you like it or not, that I’m still the best you’ve ever had—”</p><p>Before you can react, before you can do anything, the Mandalorian has a knife against her throat. You have no idea where it comes from. You want to react, to say something, to not sit there bumbling like a faulty droid, but you’ve got nothing. Zip. Zilch. Nada. </p><p>“Slice me with my knife,” she whispers, taunting him. “Do it. Put on a show for your little weakling girlfriend behind me and kill me. We both know you can’t—” </p><p>You unfreeze, suddenly, so quickly that you don’t realize what you’re doing, until you yank her slender shoulder back away from the knife Mando has in his grip and shove her headfirst into the carbonite chamber. She howls, but you press the button—that’s your one move, slamming your hands against things and miraculously making them work in the moment of truth—and her terrifying, hungry face gets swallowed up in the gas. You shove her backwards—well, the block of her—so that it slams into the other bounties that have been frozen in time in between your last trip to Nevarro, and it’s only when you’re sure she’s completely immobilized that you finally exhale, hands on your knees, chest heaving. The world around you is spinning. You check your arms and throat frantically, just to make sure she didn’t nick you with something sharp while you were frozen. </p><p>When your breathing regulates, and all your bumps and bruises only tally up evenly to the ones you had before today, you look up at Mando. He’s seemingly stuck, too, the sharp knife still in his gloved hand, completely immobile. You tap his outstretched hand to be sure you didn’t accidentally catch him with your fairly heroic carbonite rescue, and he only becomes responsive to your touch on his gloved one.</p><p>“Hey,” you say, softly, to not startle him anymore, “I’m okay—are you? Are you okay?”</p><p>“Thank you,” he says, gruffly, his fingers still clenched tight around the knife that came out of nowhere, and you just know that underneath his glove, his knuckles are white. You can hear it in his voice. </p><p>“What—oh. You’re welcome. I’m sorry I didn’t react sooner, that I let her go on like that—” </p><p>“I was going to kill her.” Even through the modulator, you can hear there’s something complicating his voice. You move forward, gently, trying to pry his fingers off the knife. Your body is so close to his, your neck straining as you look up from his hand to his helmet. You don’t know why this is so difficult for him to reconcile, when you’ve seen him take out at least twenty people, easily, since you came aboard. You don’t like the killing, but you understand his necessity, sometimes, and his disconnect from it. It’s what he does, it’s his job, his survival. You don’t know why this one was so different. “If you didn’t—I was going to slit her throat.”</p><p>You’re the one who’s silent, now. You have absolutely no idea what to say, especially considering that him needing solace over the thought of killing someone—not even actually killing them—is completely foreign to you. You inhale, exhale, and then take a half-step closer, moving his last finger off the knife. “You didn’t,” you whisper, earnest, slipping the knife out of his grip and reaching in closely behind him to put it safely in the armory. “You didn’t.”</p><p>He looks at you. Up and down. It’s dark in here, but you can track his visor. You have absolutely no idea what’s going on behind it. Despite all of this, despite the way you had both been moving in sync lately, despite how you felt the magnetic pull of the universe with him, he just went radio silent. None of this seemed in character. For the first time since you met him, you felt like you were in over your head.</p><p>“I was going to,” he repeats, and you nod, slowly. “She’s not worth anything to the Guild dead, but I would have done it in a second—”</p><p>“—You didn’t,” you interrupt, enunciating each syllable, “it’s okay, you can turn her in frozen like that, and we can get far away from her, you don’t have to be—”</p><p>“—to protect you.”</p><p>You come to a full stop, breath catching in your throat. </p><p>“I would have spilled her guts all over the floor in front of you—in front of my <i>kid</i>—to protect you. And then you protected me instead.”</p><p>You can feel your mouth falling open in shock. The baby, funnily enough, has decided to move his floating egg upstairs, and you’re glad he’s getting out of the line of fire. You swallow, looking back at Mando. “I did.”</p><p>“That’s not your job.”</p><p>You have whiplash. His voice has gone from detached to emotional to brash. You have no idea what you’re supposed to say to that, to say to any of this. You feel a familiar, dizzying rush, the beginnings of tears pinpricking at the corners of your eyes. </p><p>“Too <i>bad</i>,” you manage, finally, hoping that your voice doesn’t break, “you protect me, I protect you, give and take, Mando, that’s how this <i>works</i>—” </p><p>And then you stop because his hands are on you. So fast. Lightning quick. One grabs at your side, thumb pressing lightly against where your scar bottoms out on the left of your abdomen, the other on the right side of your face, fingers tangled in the mess of your hair. You gasp, shudder, and breathe out as he grabs you. As easily as he squeezes, though, his grip detracts to barely there at all, and he slowly pushes you back against the wall. Every nerve on your body is on fire. You breathe, uneven and desperate, as his grip on your hip trails up your side until he has both big hands cupped against your face. </p><p>He’s eclipsing you. All you can see in your line of vision is him, and, peripherally, the distorted reflection of your heaving chest pressed up against the cool beskar, everything swallowed up by him. It’s devastating. It’s everything. You can barely breathe. </p><p>“That’s not your job,” he repeats, but now his voice is almost as ragged as yours is, and so you nod. </p><p>His helmet comes forward, slightly, and he presses it into your forehead. “What is my job?” you squeak out, trying to not go cross-eyed as you try to catch any glimpse of his eyes under the visor. You can’t, so you close yours, in desperate anticipation.</p><p>He removes his helmet from against your forehead, and you sway forward, already missing his grip against you, until, suddenly, his head is in the hollow of your neck. Your breathing hitches again. You try your very best to not imagine what his voice would sound like without the modulator, what his lips would feel like pressed up against your skin, when his hand drops from your chin and trails back down your body, past your scar, past the bruises on your belly, and then it pauses. </p><p>“To take mine,” he grits out, his voice swelling up against the skin of your ear, and then your body slumps against the wall, and before you can beg for it, for anything, his hand rises, meeting you in the middle, fingers fitting perfectly between your thighs.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>yes, the Twi'lek is Xi'an... don't worry, there'll be more backstory in the coming chapters about how she escaped the prison ship after episode 6 of season 1, and a LOT more of the narrator's backstory in chapter 5!!!! &lt;3</p><p>NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE UP AT 7:30 PM EST SATURDAY JANUARY 23RD!</p><p>xoxo, amelie</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. I Won't Run</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Listen to me,” Mando says, and you do. “I’m not good with words.” He pauses, as if to prove his point, or maybe it’s so you feel the weight of the next one. “I’m better with action. And I would have killed everyone in that village if I thought they were threatening you.”</p>
<p>You sob again.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and you’ve never heard him apologize, never heard him this earnest. “I won’t do that again. I won’t…hide from you. I’ll stay.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I HOPE Y'ALL ARE AS EXCITED ABOUT THIS ONE AS I AM!!! this was originally two chapters, but it's Saturday night, we all want Mando, and i couldn't bring myself to leave you on a cliffhanger ;)</p>
<p>WARNINGS: there's a lot of explicit violence in this one, mentions of past physical abuse, semi-graphic warnings of violence, and explicit sexual content. PLEASE let me know if there's anything you stumble upon that needs a warning tagged!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You can still feel his hand there.</p>
<p>It’s been another week. This time, though, you’ve barely talked. The second that he touched you, <i>really</i> touched you, and your moan came out choked and raggedy, your <i>please</i> sounding more desperate than you’d literally ever been, it was gone. He left you, uncontrolled and wild, as he tore himself away from you, and shut himself in the alcove where his bed sat, swearing under his breath the whole way back. </p>
<p>You have whiplash. If you had no idea what was going through his head when he almost killed the Twi’lek, you were completely stranded here. You were so close. It was like everything had fallen into place, the universe totally aligned, and then you were both veering entirely off a prewritten course. It didn’t make any <i>sense</i>. </p>
<p>He told you he would have spilled the Twi’lek’s blood all over the floor of the Crest for you, to protect you, and then he touched you like he couldn’t stop himself, and now you haven’t exchanged more than a few words in over a week. </p>
<p>You had brought your nest of a bed back up the ladder, if only to make sure he couldn’t hear you when you cried at night. For the first time since you joined Mando on the ship, you feel completely and utterly unmoored. Lonely. You feel lonely. You’d distracted yourself from it ever since your parents died all those years ago, with noise and ships and making deals to get from one side of the galaxy to the next, but here it was, creeping in. For real. And the rejection was so abrupt, so sudden—it made your stomach flip over backward every time you thought about it. </p>
<p>Even the baby didn’t know what to do with you. Sometimes, you’d beg him, quietly, to come up or downstairs whenever the Mandalorian was in the other location, just for something to do other than wallow, and he’d look at you with his giant bug eyes and cry when he couldn’t decide. It was like forcing a kid to choose between separated parents, so you let him go to his dad. Every time. </p>
<p>As the days ticked by, and you still couldn’t get Mando to talk to you, you had made a deal with yourself. Wherever the Razor Crest touched down next, you were getting off of it. For good. Even if it was Corellia, or Mustafar, or somewhere with air entirely uninhabitable. Even if it was—your stomach roiled with the thought, but even it seemed like a better alternative than continually getting your heart broken—on Coruscant. That’s how much your stupid, love-drunk heart ached. And then you’d kick yourself internally, every time, for referring to your heartbreak as love. You barely knew him. You didn’t know anything about the way he looked, or what his life was before you came aboard, other than protecting the baby from absolutely every threat in the galaxy. You couldn’t get a single word more than a necessity out of him in the last five days. </p>
<p>And it hurt. Everything hurt. Your body had been whittled down to bone again sleeping on the floor, and the pulse points up and down your shoulders to your neckline burned whenever you moved them even the slightest. Your heart didn’t look too much better.</p>
<p>You were being melodramatic, but you were determined to allow yourself to wallow. Just for a little bit. Just until you had an escape route. </p>
<p>The baby babbles, snapping you out of your dark reverie. He’s looking up at you, stubby arms clawing at your leg, and you sigh softly to pick him up. You were going to miss him. So much. You forgot what life was like before he came around, and you didn’t want to live in a world where that was gone. But you were stuck between a rock and a hard place, so you picked up the baby to snuggle for as long as you possibly could. </p>
<p>“We’re landing.”</p>
<p>It’s the first words out of the Mandalorian’s mouth in over a day, at least to you. You’ve started stubbornly calling him “the Mandalorian” in your head again, to distance between the slight nickname of “Mando” that everyone else was allowed to call him. It wasn’t the perfect system. But for a few seconds, it worked.</p>
<p>“Where?”</p>
<p>He doesn’t answer you, just strides over to the pilot’s seat and fiddles with the tricky controls, expertly and absentmindedly. You curl your knee up to your chest, squinting at the back of his silhouette, trying to see any sort of slip in his persona, any chink in his armor, but he’s still entirely withholding and entirely reflective. </p>
<p>Finally, he points down on the planet, and you can see. Dantooine. It’s the place you’ve arguably spent most of your free time within contracts back when you were a contract pilot, because it’s still littered with memories and friends to the Alliance, and it’s home to one of the biggest trading posts where you used to meet a lot of your clients. It’s fitting, that this is your last stop with him. To you, Dantooine is transitory. A place made for leaving. </p>
<p>“This bounty will be easy to catch.”</p>
<p>You startle, amazed that he’s talking to you again. Real words this time. </p>
<p>“Okay.”</p>
<p>You stare ahead, eyes pointedly transfixed onto the planet you’re descending on, not sure what else he wants from you. You want to beg him not to leave, to explain why he ran from you, why he acted like you were the only home he had in the galaxy and then physically tore himself away from you, but you can’t make the words come, and you don’t know how to bridge the gap he’s so determinedly defending. </p>
<p>He doesn’t even acknowledge you when he leaves for the ladder. He just picks up the baby, holds him for a minute, and descends. You close your eyes against Dantooine’s familiar backdrop, trying to regain your composure long enough for the Mandalorian to leave the ship. </p>
<p>“Hey. Come here.”</p>
<p>You can’t believe your ears. You turn, stand, and walk over to the ladder, your hair hanging loose in your face as you lean over the hole in the floor. “What?”</p>
<p>Silently, he tosses up the commlink to you. It’s an olive branch, you must admit, but then he turns on his heel, disengages the gangplank, and leaves. Before you can do anything, you pull the baby tight to your chest, and then you climb down the ladder, collapsing on the shower floor. You aren’t even planning on showering, you just know that it’s the only conservatory in this entire ship, a place you can safely fall apart. <br/>It’s only been what’s felt like a few minutes sitting there, but the baby is crying. You want to tell him to get in line, that you need to sob for once, but that’s not helpful and it’s certainly not the right thing to do. So you sigh, wipe your teary eyes, and open the door to the baby’s wailing.</p>
<p>“What’s wrong, bug?” You ask, tiredly, but you let him try to explain in his adorable wordless way before you start guessing. It doesn’t take long. Food. He’s hungry. Your own stomach roils, and you realize it’s been at least a day since you both had something substantial, more than just splitting a single ration.</p>
<p>As much as you know the Mandalorian loves the baby, he’s not the best at remembering to feed him. You sigh, pulling the child onto your hip so that you can rummage through the only place in the ship where food is kept. Nothing was there. You’d been flying now for almost a week, and haven’t stopped to refuel, and you didn’t realize how low the supply had gotten. You sigh, again, knowing you’re going to have to get off the ship to restock. At least you knew Dantooine enough to get in and out of the closest market within an hour or so, so you could return the baby to the ship before you packed up your bag and left the Razor Crest behind. <br/>It still hurt, despite your insistence on this plan. You made sure to cuddle the baby more than you had in days, singing his favorite lullabies to him, dancing around the hull of the ship with his little green fingers entwined with yours. You kissed him on his fuzzy head, trying to bottle up his sweet baby smell for the years that would follow when he was gone from your life, fighting tears as you grabbed your blaster and one of the Mandalorian’s cloaks to swaddle you both up in so that he wouldn’t catch anyone’s eye. You looked around at the Crest, for what felt like the monument of a last time, trying to take a memory of it that would sustain the rest of forever, and then you turned on the gangplank, made sure you hid the baby under your cloak, and left.</p>
<p>You didn’t realize you left the commlink behind, or that it was blinking red in conversation from the Mandalorian, until it was much too late.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dantooine was a hard place to feel unsafe in. You felt comforted knowing there were Alliance connections here, you used to lay under the tall trees and watched as they moved and shook through the sky when the breeze rushed through, and it reminded you of home on Yavin in a way that didn’t quite break your heart. Even now, as you hold the baby close your chest, remnants of your force of habit after realizing how many people seem out for his tiny little body, you don’t feel like prey, which is a reassurance you haven’t felt in months. Years. </p>
<p>When you left Yavin, when you sort of dropped out of the Alliance after the defeat of Darth Vader and the fall of the Empire, Dantooine was where you went first. You had been a pilot for nearly your whole life, and a skilled one at that, and you liked adventure, to feel the thrill of driving a ship through the rush of hyperspace. You were adamant that the people you helped out swear up and down that they weren’t Imperial sympathizers, but you didn’t really mind how dark their history was otherwise. At best, you were helping people escape from a bad situation, and at worst, you were traveling to shady locations that you could maneuver yourself out of. You liked being able to give others that freedom, the kind of passage that you needed for yourself not too long ago. </p>
<p>You’re telling all of this to the baby as you both hop through small streams and hike up the forest hills to the closest village, trying to keep him distracted in your trek for food. He’s not crying anymore, but you can tell by the way his big eyes have shrunk due to fatigue that you need to get him something soon. As you splash through the water, you look for frogs, which you used to try to keep the kid from at all costs, but right now, you’d gather them up and make them into a bouquet for him. You don’t like knowing that he’s fading away, and you don’t like that you are either. Hunger rumbles deep in your own stomach, and you press a hand to it, the bruises from when the man snuck onto the ship only a tiny bit tender now. It’s like the memory of an ache rather than the ache itself, which is in direct opposition to the way your heart swells painfully every time you remember you’re never going to see the Mandalorian or the baby again. You keep singing to him, telling little stories as you finally, gloriously, stumble across a town.</p>
<p>You’d only been to this part of this planet once, picking up a job in the one cantina on the outskirts of its surrounding forest, but you remembered enough to find the diner, and you settled into a table at the back where there was enough cover to let the baby sit on the bench beside you and drink his bone broth and chomp down the kebabs the waitress brought you. You made sure he was largely in cover behind the cloak you’d lifted from the Mandalorian before you drank down your own soup and refilled your water with the glasses that had been left on the table.</p>
<p>“Drink, please,” you tell the baby, and slide the small glass over to him. He squeaks defiantly, and you narrow your eyes, holding it up to him. “C’mon, bug, I’ll get you more broth if you do, but you need to have some of this.”</p>
<p>Grumpily, he obliges. You wink at him, holding your own glass up to your mouth to show him that you were doing it too, and the more water he gulps down, the bigger his eyes get. He snuggles up against the thigh that doesn’t have your blaster strapped to it when he was done, laying one of his giant ears in your lap as he holds onto you, and your heart flips over in your chest again. </p>
<p>You didn’t want to leave him. You didn’t want to leave either of them, and the plan for your way out of the heartache that had been your only solace in the last week since the cold war between you and the Mandalorian had started just kept falling apart in your head. Every time you had convinced yourself that it would be less painful to just make a clean break and run, the baby would latch onto you or you’d do something useful on the ship or the Mandalorian would offer a tiny bargain, and you had to talk yourself back into it all over again as if you hadn’t already done it twenty times. </p>
<p>You stare into the dregs of the cold soup left in your own bowl as the baby shifts against your leg, and you absentmindedly curl a hand around his small body as he sleeps, gaze still fixated on the remnants of your lunch. You were being ridiculous. The Mandalorian hadn’t shown you that much affection in the early weeks with him, either, and you didn’t let that stop you from feeling like the universe had aligned when you met him. So what, he touched you and then couldn’t speak to you, was that really a dealbreaker? Why can’t you just make yourself ask him <i>why</i>?</p>
<p>The baby snores beside you, and that wailing orchestra of want in your heart opens up again. <i>Just ask him why things have been so different</i>, the more rational side of your brain wheedles, and as your eyes drift from the soup to the baby, his big bug eyes open and look at you with so much love it makes you want to cry all over again. He reaches for the insignia on your necklace from where it catches the low light, fingers gliding over the curve of the Rebel symbol, and suddenly, without ceremony, your decision is made. </p>
<p>You signal the waitress, leave a few extra credits on the table behind you, and pull the baby back into the bag he sat in on your journey here, revitalized with your new plan. You were just going to get back to the Crest, work up the nerve when Mando returned, and ask him what happened. You were an adult. So was he, even though there were large stretches of time where the armor made him seem too intimidating to be human, and you could communicate. If he decided he didn’t want you there anymore, well, at least you’d have an answer. And if he didn’t say anything, then you could justify leaving. With some sort of gesture at closure. <br/>Emboldened by the new plan, you forgot to wrap your hair and upper body back up in the cloak once you had swaddled the baby back in his safe hiding place, sauntering out of the building without checking your surroundings. </p>
<p>It was a rookie mistake. A childish one. You smiled to yourself as you hopped along the dirt road, not realizing that someone had called your name until the voice appeared again.</p>
<p>You didn’t know what you were expecting. The waitress, maybe? An old contact from a job a while back? Maybe even Mando? But when you turned around, too quickly, too openly, your heart fell three stories from where it sat in your chest, collided into your stomach, and both of them flipped so dramatically you flinched. </p>
<p>Standing in front of you, with half of his face scarred and his left arm replaced by something much more bionic, was the brother of the man you left dead on Coruscant.</p>
<p>This wasn’t how you expected to see someone from your old life again. It felt impossible. Wrong. Especially on a planet that was as remote and relatively safe as Dantooine. Your fingers immediately found the blaster on your hip, and when he walked forward, teeth bared, eyes completely calm in a way that terrified you, you flinched.</p>
<p>“Hands off the weapon.”</p>
<p>You oblige. You’re shaking, cloak still safely covering the sleeping baby, hoping to every place in the galaxy that Merle didn’t catch that you had a Force sensitive being strapped to your back, small and exposed, already with too many attempts on his sweet little life. You know he’d kill the baby just to hurt you back for what you did to his family. An eye for an eye. </p>
<p>“Please,” you whisper, and you’re not even sure what you’re begging for, until the cold metal of the mouth of his blaster is slammed against your forehead. Your eyes flutter closed. Your breath is jagged in your throat, the kind of staccato of a deep panic you hadn’t felt the full extent of since back on Coruscant. “Merle, I—”</p>
<p>“Don’t.” You shut up. “I’m going to talk, and you’re going to listen.”</p>
<p>You open your eyes for just a fragment, just a split second. His face is gnarled up close, the kind of scarred that only comes from something nasty. It’s worse than it was when you had both met. You know he’s been in more close scrapes, more danger in worse corners of the universe, since everything on Coruscant happened. His good eye is trained on you. He looks calm. Too calm. You hadn’t seen hurt so warped that it circles back around to evenness on anyone else in this galaxy. As he presses his gun harder into your scalp, you can feel the kid shifting on your back, and your desperation surges again.</p>
<p>“I’ve been looking for you for a long time,” Merle says, and you don’t dare to move a muscle. To even breathe. Your eyes open up again and you realize you’re absolutely surrounded by his men, some faces familiar and all of them foreboding. You were way in over your head here. You had always been in over your head when you accepted the job for him and his brother, but this was a new kind of fear. “You’ve been running to places where you know we can’t catch you, little girl.”</p>
<p>You swallow. “<i>Please</i>,” you try again, and then the butt of his blaster moves from your forehead to your lips, and you whimper. You will the baby with everything in you to stay asleep, stay hidden, and hope with your entire chest that he senses what you’re telling him and obliges. </p>
<p>“I told you,” Merle says, his voice still even, that deadly sort of calm, “that you’re going to listen.”</p>
<p>You nod. </p>
<p>“You thought you could run from me after what you did to Jacterr?”</p>
<p>You haven’t heard his name in years. Everything in you after you left him behind within an inch of your own life tried to bury it for your own survival. You didn’t even let your tongue form around anything with the letter J in it for months after you escaped. You fled for years from Coruscant. Once, you even tried to fake your own death so that none of the men involved in the incident could find you, but you didn’t cover up your own grave good enough. You’re about to cry. It’s the worst time in the world to show weakness against Merle’s inhuman calm, to be the kind of prey both of them used to hunt down, but you can’t help it.</p>
<p>“You thought there was any place in the galaxy you could hide from me?” He’s circling you, now, the gun tracing new lines down your face. You want to tell him the truth, that Jacterr had hit you first, had intended to punish you for his mistake, and that all you were doing was trying not to get killed while he dragged your broken body across the floor of that damn museum, and through the abandoned cantina, and that you hadn’t even meant to hurt him, let alone kill him, but you couldn’t control yourself when your hand pulled the saber to life, and he was dead on the floor while you pulled the knife he had dragged from your rib down to your pelvis out and cauterized yourself with the same laser blade of the lightsaber you never even knew you had power to yield—but the truth hasn’t come out of you in nearly seven years, and you don’t think you can speak any of it out loud.</p>
<p>He whistles, and you’ve heard that sound too many times to play dumb. The men that have been circling you, dangerous and too close, step in towards you, knock your blaster out of your hand, and restrain you. There’s something dangling from Merle’s belt when he screams at you to open your terrified eyes to the sun, and even though you know exactly what it is, the weapon he’s been carrying nearly seven years to kill you the way you did his brother, the only thing in the entire galaxy that you can think about is how you’re going to get the baby killed, too, and that everything Mando first brought you aboard for is compromised. Your biggest mistake ever has been completely eclipsed by this one. Your fingers clutch at your wrist before you realize that you left the commlink back on the ship, that you were stranded out here. You choke back a sob with the realization that Mando’s not here, that you have no way to reach him, and you were going to die with the baby strapped to your back. </p>
<p>“Any last words?” Merle asks, and the two men holding your arms jostle you so that the cloak falls away from your body, so that Merle can cut you clean through in the same scar that Jacterr left in you nearly seven years ago, and you want to say something, you do, you need to, but you’re not talking to him when your mouth falls open. </p>
<p>“Tell Mando I’m so sorry,” you whisper, “And that I wish I would have stayed with both of you forever.” You can feel the baby’s big ears perk up on your back at the sound of your voice, and one of the men finds him hidden under the bag on your back, and you close your eyes as Merle drops his blaster from your forehead, bracing for the supersonic whoosh of the lightsaber’s glowing blade to slice you clean through, and then, suddenly, you’re being yanked upwards and the men holding you are both on the ground, lifeless. </p>
<p>You scream as you’re suddenly airborne, realizing a second too late that you’ve been pulled out and away from Merle and his weapons, and that Mando is protecting you, again¸ that he’s throwing himself in front of danger for you, and you’re huddled behind the impervious shield of his shiny beskar, impenetrable from the weapon you were so sure was going to kill you a second ago. </p>
<p>“Tell me yourself,” Mando growls, “and stay back.”</p>
<p>You nod, stupidly, because he’s already turned back around and is holding the same blade to Merle’s neck that he did to the Twi’lek on the ship a week ago. You’re frozen, again, being literally useless despite your tight grip on the baby, holding him so tightly to your bare skin that you think you’ll fuse together if he stays there any longer. </p>
<p>“This where you been hiding?” Merle asks, his calloused, cold grin spreading across his face like poison, and he spits the syllables your name against the Mandalorian’s helmet. “You’re acting like a big brave bounty hunter now, huh, you conniving, traitorous little bitch?”</p>
<p>Your eyes flick from Merle’s smile to Mando’s blade. Mando’s not moving a muscle, even though you’ve seen him shoot people quicker than you can blink before. He’s waiting, you realize, for you to respond to Merle’s insults, to tell him what to do next.</p>
<p>You swallow, tears still brimming at the corners of your eyes, trying to look much more brazen than you feel. For years, you realize, you’ve been running from this moment. You’ve taken Jacterr’s dead body with you for ages, carrying that weight of the bruises and blades he left on your skin long after you escaped from him, even after you stopped speaking it aloud, even after you promised you’d never return to the horror that happened to you on Coruscant. That you’d been running from anything that got too close for comfort for years, and when you found Mando, you felt safe. You felt something more. And still, you’d left, you tried to outrun the hurt, but the third man that you had ever run from had just thrown himself in front of the world to protect you. Again.</p>
<p>You clench your teeth, resolve hardening. You want to do it yourself, but you don’t think there’s any universe in which you could kill someone else and not have the haunt of it consume you, after the last death at your hands has left you immobilized for years, so you step forward, cradling the baby’s face against your chest, nodding at Mando. </p>
<p>“Tell your brother I said he deserved it when you meet him in the afterlife,” you manage, and the terrain of your voice is rough and so alien to who you are, the hatred of your words pulsing dangerously inside of you, and before Merle can say anything, his eyes widen in the horrific realization of what you mean, and the Mandalorian has slit his throat. </p>
<p>You stare as Merle’s body bleeds out over the dust of the road in the town. Before you can do anything, Mando’s already shot and killed the four men that surrounded you, shooting the ones that had held you down a few seconds ago twice. People have emerged from their houses, murmuring at Mando’s appearance and the array of violence that’s followed, and you want to crumple on the forest floor in the middle of it, but suddenly Mando’s arm is wrapped around your waist, your head is in his shoulder, and the three of you are airborne, flying away from the spectacle, from the reconciliation of your past, from the last seven years of your life. You close your eyes, pressing them into the cold beskar of his shoulder, swallowing over and over again so you can’t cry. </p>
<p>No one speaks a word until you’re back at the ship, and the Mandalorian sends the baby to sleep in his alcove, and points at the ladder until you take his silence as a command and climb it, shaking, trying to get to the top in one piece. You curl up in the copilot’s seat as he maneuvers the Crest off of Dantooine’s surface, closing your eyes to the noise of the ship rather than wallow in his silence. </p>
<p>It takes until you’ve made the jump to hyperspace for the Mandalorian to turn and face you. He does it so quickly, so abruptly, you don’t realize he’s standing in front of you before he’s the only thing in the line of sight. </p>
<p>“You left me.”</p>
<p>You stifle a sob. You’re expecting him to yell at you, to tell you how mad he is, to chastise you for taking his kid and getting you both into a life-threatening situation, to make you know how much he can’t trust you with anything, not with his baby, not with your own life, but he doesn’t even sound angry. He seems betrayed. </p>
<p>“I—” </p>
<p>“You took my kid,” he interrupts, and his hand is on your wrist, pulling you upward, and suddenly you’re standing impossibly close to him, neck thrown back to look him where the visor is, trying to figure out his intentions. “You took my kid, you didn’t take the commlink with you, and you nearly got the both of you killed.”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” you whisper, brokenly, and his hand moves from your wrist to tangle in your hair. You gasp at the immediacy of it, and then he’s seizing your face with his other hand, and you’re being suspended in place just by the Mandalorian’s grip. </p>
<p>“Where the hell did you think you were going?” he says, and his voice is low and dangerous through the modulator. He squeezes your cheeks. “Why did you run away from me?”</p>
<p>“You—I thought you didn’t want me,” you manage, and you’re crying, and you can’t stop it, it’s a thunderstorm behind your eyes, and you can’t make him understand that you were only leaving to get the baby food, that you weren’t going to kidnap his kid, that you only were intending on walking away after that, and it was only because you thought he had rejected you and didn’t want you around anymore, but you try to put it to words outside your head and they come out tangled and incomprehensible. “You tore yourself away from me—I wasn’t leaving, I was getting—the baby, just food—I didn’t want to hurt either of you—” </p>
<p>“Too late,” he hisses, and you have no idea what he means until he’s moving forward, and your feet are sliding against the floor and he backs you, gently, into the corner. “You have to swear to me you’re never going to do that. Ever again. You aren’t allowed to disappear on me.”</p>
<p>“Then you aren’t allowed to disappear on me!” you exclaim, and it’s like the voice is coming from somewhere entirely alien. You can’t believe you’re yelling at him, that he’s holding you like this when he’s only spoken a handful of words to you in the last week. “You decided you didn’t want me when your hands were already on me and then you acted like I—you acted like I was repulsive,” you manage, your voice breaking off on the last word. “How was I supposed to know—?”</p>
<p>Mando’s hands drop their intensity at your words, and a gloved finger is moving across your cheek to catch your tears, and then suddenly, gently, you’re both on the floor, and he’s clutching the back of your neck to bring your forehead against the coldness of his helmet, his grip desperate. “Is that what you thought?” he whispers, and it’s as broken as yours was. “That I didn’t want you?”</p>
<p>You nod, your words tangling up in your throat again. </p>
<p>“<i>No</i>,” he manages, and you shudder at the intention of the word, at the warmth of his body entangled in yours, his hands on your face and in your hair, and you let yourself be pulled forward over one of his legs until you’re in his lap, dizzied and frenzied, “you are the purest thing in the galaxy. I pulled away because I’m not good enough to touch you.” </p>
<p>You blink at him, wiping away tears. It doesn’t make sense. Not good enough for you? That’s why he recoiled, why he’s been acting like you don’t exist? “But—” </p>
<p>“Promise me you’re never going to run like that again,” he enunciates, fingers moving to clench your cheeks, and you don’t know what it is, but you can feel his eyes on you again, and you close yours to it, nodding as quickly as you can. </p>
<p>“I promise.”</p>
<p>“You scared me,” he whispers, and even through the modulator you can hear how panicked he sounds, “I tried to call you and you didn’t answer me and—”  </p>
<p>“You need to promise me it too,” you barrel over him, not making a lick of sense, “you—you need to promise that you won’t pull yourself away from me like that again, because you—I felt useless, broken—” </p>
<p>He pulls you your face away from his chest to look at you. You knew you shouldn’t have said that, that you needed to control how much of the universe’s grand destiny comes out of your mouth, especially since you don’t want to scare him off, but you aren’t expecting radio silence after the way he’s talking, even though it’s his default setting, and you just bite down on your lip, trying to stop the tears. </p>
<p>“Listen to me,” Mando says, and you do. “I’m not good with words.” He pauses, as if to prove his point, or maybe it’s so you feel the weight of the next one. “I’m better with action. And I would have killed everyone in that village if I thought they were threatening you.”</p>
<p>You sob again.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and you’ve never heard him apologize, never heard him this earnest. “I won’t do that again. I won’t…hide from you. I’ll stay.”</p>
<p>“I won’t run,” you promise, and you realize it’s the same thing he just told you, and something huge and monumental swells up in your chest, “I won’t leave you again.”</p>
<p>You don’t know what he’s thinking, you don’t know anything at this point, clearly, considering that you’re in his lap, and his hands are on your face, and despite the last week, that giant cosmic pull you feel between the two of you is apparently pulsing inside him, too, but you aren’t expecting the next words that come out of his mouth.</p>
<p>“Close your eyes.” </p>
<p>You do. </p>
<p>“Lay back against the wall.” </p>
<p>It’s hard to maneuver yourself with your eyes closed, with the sheer darkness of the hull around you, but you do that, too. </p>
<p>“Keep them closed,” he orders, and you nod. You can hear him shuffling around in the dark, and then a piece of cloth is tied around your eyes. Still, though, even with the blindfold, you don’t dare open them. Everything that the Mandalorian does is intentioned, so you try to match it. You’re not going to run. You aren’t going to look. You don’t know what he wants, but the butterfly menagerie in your stomach is fluttering, and still, this is the safest you’ve ever felt. </p>
<p>“I’m not going to run,” you repeat, faintly, and then there’s a hiss in the starry darkness around you, and you squeeze your eyes shut so tightly it’s like you’re looking through the rush of hyperspace outside the window of the Crest, and you suddenly realize why he’s telling you to keep them closed.</p>
<p>The Mandalorian is straddling you, one of his large knees on either side of you as you’re leaned up against the wall of his ship, and the absence of his hands on your face was only to remove his gloves, and then his skin is on yours, warm and impossibly real, and before you can gasp at the sensation of it, the meaning, something silences you.</p>
<p>You realize, even as your entire body is humming, even as you’re in disbelief, despite everything…Mando’s lips are on yours. And the universe, the one you’ve felt pull you two together since the very beginning, fades out of existence. It’s just him. Everything else stops.</p>
<p>He buries himself into you like he’s hungry and you’re the only thing in the galaxy that can satiate it. </p>
<p>You’ve imagined this, a million times. You’ve imagined what it would be like to have his skin bare against yours, have his tongue in your mouth. When you first met him, way back on Nevarro, you imagined that dizzying pull in your stomach whenever he was around be completely overwhelming if he ever touched you more than in just protection. You had a glimpse of it after you froze the Twi’lek in carbonite, the way that his hand trailed down your body and grazed up in between your thighs. You remember the way your consciousness almost buzzed out completely when he touched your stomach, your throat, with so much gentleness after experiencing so much hurt. It sung inside you, the want for him to be as close to you as he could, constantly, enduringly. And right now, he’s pulled you into his lap, and your legs are touching behind his back as he supports you easily with one big hand while the other is behind your neck, keeping your lips locked on his.</p>
<p><i>This is enough</i>, you think, gasping into his mouth as he pulls the small of your back closer, into the beskar, and you know the greedy part of you that aches for every part of him would disagree with you, but you’re in so much bliss that you don’t even care. You want all of him, every inch, but just this—sitting in his lap, mewling into his mouth as he kisses you in the way you’ve only ever dreamed about—is more than you could have ever hoped for.</p>
<p>You think you spend hours enveloped in his big arms, eyes fluttering behind the blindfold as he moves his lips down your neck, hungry and senseless, crying out as his tongue slips out of his mouth to the pulse points on either side of your throat, the sound echoing off the Crest’s dark interior, with nothing but him and the stars around you to hear. </p>
<p>“Wow,” you whisper, but the sound is too loud, and you want to clap your hand over your mouth to take away the impact because his lips have left the hollow of your collarbone where you think he should stay forever. “I’m sorry—”</p>
<p>“Is this,” he whispers, his thumb ghosting across your cheeks, settling on your lips, just for a second, and his skin against yours makes you want to scream, “okay?” He pauses. Like, <i>for real</i> pauses, as if him kissing you, touching you, wasn’t all you had wanted since the second you met him. </p>
<p>“Um,” you squeak out, incredulous that this is even a question, your eyes fluttering against the blindfold as his hands rest gently on your hips, “Yes?”</p>
<p>“You sound unsure,” he whispers, and the rumble of his voice, dark and rich, is a completely different animal when it’s not hidden and modulated under the helmet. </p>
<p>“Mando, I am literally the most sure I have ever been in my entire life,” you blurt, not giving a though to how desperate you sound. “Like literally ever. Surer than when I said yes to you back on Nevarro. Surer than when I said I’d protect you—<i>oh</i>,” you interrupt yourself, because his hands are traveling up your bare arms and then his lips are back on your neck, and you moan. Loudly. You can’t help yourself. </p>
<p>“Good,” he whispers, and the sound is so soft against your heavy breathing that you have to hold your breath to make sure what he’s saying is fully absorbed inside your head. You’re so distracted, it takes that extra straining to even register that he’s talking. “I can’t touch you when you’re unsure.”</p>
<p>“Again,” you stress, in between kisses now, because his lips are back on yours, and sweet holy hell this is all you want to feel for the rest of your lifetime, and half of the next, “I have never wanted anything more than this—” you gasp again, as one of his hands leaves the crook of your neck to easily cup under your chin, his long fingers splayed out across your cheeks, puckering your lips for him to put his own on, “you have no idea—how long I’ve wanted you—”</p>
<p>“How long?” he asks, pulling you down against his lap, and holy <i>fuck</i> you can feel him underneath you, inches of him rock hard, and everything in you clenches. “How long?”</p>
<p>“Since I—I met you,” you manage, and now both of his hands are on your hips, and both of you are gasping as he pulls you against him, making your hips buck and grinding against his cock, and you cry out again, vocal and loud, “Since you killed that first man—back on Nevarro, the one that was—” </p>
<p>“Scaring you,” he interrupts, and you nod, and his lips are against that sweet hollow of your collarbone again. “Do you know how closely he came to touching you?”</p>
<p>You try to recall, squinting against the blindfold as his voice rumbles against your ear, and then his tongue is peeking against it, hot and wet, and you squirm against him, completely oblivious to the memory you were trying to conjure just a few seconds ago. “Hmm?”</p>
<p>“His hands,” Mando whispers, and you grind yourself down on him again, completely distracted, “were about to reach out and graze against the hole in your pants.”</p>
<p>“Who?” you manage, and half of it comes out as smart and the other half comes out after he pulls your hips down on him again, and the syllable cuts in half and you can’t even remember what you were asking about. </p>
<p>“That’s why I stepped in,” he whispers, and you moan against the feeling his tongue in the hollow of your ear again. “I knew you had it handled, but I couldn’t—if he touched you, I would have flayed him within an inch of his life.”</p>
<p>That jogged your memory, and you pull your head away from where it was lolling against his jawline, fumbling with your hands until you could touch it, and he recoils from your grip, but only for a second. You close your eyes against the blindfold, glancing your fingertips against his chin, trying to show him you weren’t going to hurt him, you just wanted the chance to touch him, and you left them featherlight like that until he pushes his face into your hands, giving you permission. </p>
<p>“I <i>did</i> have it handled.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I know,” he says, quickly, but determinedly, and you sigh happily at his faith in you. “I knew you didn’t need my help. But I wanted to shoot him where he stood for scaring you.”</p>
<p>“You did,” you murmur, stroking his face with your thumb. “He ran away from me when you showed up, but then you killed him anyway—” </p>
<p>“He got off easy,” Mando whispers, and you hum happily, ignoring that sinking feeling of knowing he took someone’s life for the way that he was protecting you. “I wasn’t going to, but I realized who he was.”</p>
<p>This made you startle. “Huh?”</p>
<p>“He was an escaped convict,” Mando explains, and you melt into his touch as one of his large hands finds the small of your back again, and you wrap both of your hands around his neck as he rubs you, pressing your lips gently to all the same places he did to you. “He was a dangerous lowlife, and if he hadn’t touched you, the next girl wouldn’t have been quite as lucky.”</p>
<p>“So you didn’t just kill a man for trying to touch me,” you joke, and it’s one that makes your stomach flip over backwards because you know the gravity of it, but you ignore your conscience and just try to focus on the Mandalorian’s hands on you. </p>
<p>“Not that time,” he allows, darkly, you remember the way that he killed the alien on the ship and slit Merle’s throat simply for hurting you, and you whimper as his hands move from your back to your hip to cupping your ass, and you grind down on him again, barely registering his own moan as yours rips out of you again. </p>
<p>“You know,” you manage, completely breathlessly, because he’s slid you right over where his cock is, and he’s moaning in your ear, and you absolutely cannot focus on anything other than him, “I was a Rebel, and I <i>can</i> handle myself—” </p>
<p>“Yes,” he interrupts, and his voice is thick and laden with something yearning, and you bite down on your lip, cutting yourself off, “but I’m the one putting you in danger right now, and it’s my job to protect you from it, you sweet little thing.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” you give up, happily, kissing him in between your slurred words, “okay, kill all the danger that follows me around, if you’re offering, I can’t argue with that.”</p>
<p>He sighs, and then he’s pulling you even closer, which you didn’t know was even possible, and finally, agonizingly, where you’re grinding against him hits your clit, and the rest of the world goes starry-eyed. You gasp into his mouth, and he bites your lip, possessively, quickly, and you want to beg him for something more than this, because you’re touch starved and you’re hungry and all you need is for the world around you to just be him, his body, and then realize that you don’t know if he’s ever done this before, any of it. </p>
<p>You’d assumed, you realize, that he’d fucked someone other than you before, because you knew that his life had likely spanned decades out before you, and you could picture it in the way he talks to you, in the way he throws himself in front of danger for you, his body hard and solid, buried deep inside something warm. That image in your head did nothing good, though, imagining him inside someone else, so you had trained your imagination to be distanced enough from the situation where it still made you wet but didn’t make you jealous. A happy medium. But then, you think about the way he can’t sustain human conversation without your overeager contributions to it, and how he pushed you away a week ago because he thought you were too pure for his touch, and you wonder again, if this is the first time he’s ever touched another human being, or the first time he’d ever let someone else touch him in the way he must have touched himself. You swallow. You want to know the answer, you do, but you also couldn’t take it if he told you about the people he’d been inside of before you, so you don’t know how to broach the conversation in a way that won’t break your heart. </p>
<p>“You feel good,” you manage, as his hands leave your back and circle your hips, and then, before you can say anything, his thumb is on your clit over your pants, and you cry out again. “Wow—the kind of—the kind of good I thought only existed in dreams, that much good—” </p>
<p>You’re not making sense, but he chuckles into your mouth, and the pure light that his laugh brings makes everything else in the world fade out for a second, your ears ringing. </p>
<p>“Imagine how good you feel, then,” he whispers, and you cry out. “I can feel how soaked you are even through your pants.”</p>
<p>You swear, and it’s messy, and it’s embarrassingly loud, but you don’t even care. “Your fault,” you manage, and your head spins after it comes out of you, because you don’t want any connotation of what you’re saying to be negative, because this is all you’ve ever wanted, and to remedy it, you squeak out something else. “You—I have never been touched like this before.”</p>
<p>He pauses, hand still between your legs, one still clenched in a crescent around your waist to stabilize you around his thumb. “Am I your first?”</p>
<p>Your cheeks burn at the sentence, the way he says your instead of the. “No,” you manage, and the rush of embarrassment and regret that floods out of you rivals the wetness between your legs, “but I wish—I wish you were.” </p>
<p>It’s the truth. You feel that rushing, that dizzying sense of the universe colliding with you, colliding with him, forcing you two together. You’d had sex before, on a few planets, only a handful of times. And the shame and sadness that fell over you after it was done, quickly and emotionlessly, was a deluge in your chest. You wanted to feel that cosmic connection, and every time, every time before the Mandalorian walked into your life, the universe had evaporated from your hands. </p>
<p>You want to ask him the same thing, and you start to. “Am I—?” </p>
<p>“You may as well be.” Your heart sinks, but then Mando’s thumb moves against you again, and you moan happily, forgetting the intensity of the moment the second he touches you. “And I’m going to be,” he whispers, and before you can ask him what he means, his hand that’s been on your hip rockets up to your throat, and you gasp as he clenches, lightly, but it’s there, “the first one that makes you feel this good, at least.”</p>
<p>Your breath comes out more like a scream. “Fuck me.” </p>
<p>The Mandalorian laughs against your mouth, again, his finger rubbing slow, tight circles around your clit, and you want him buried inside you, you do, but you’re so close from just his finger rubbing you over your clothes, and you squeeze your eyes tight against the feeling, against your words, against anything tangible. </p>
<p>“Oh, not yet,” he breathes, agonizingly slowly, and you shudder. “I’m going to take my time with you.”</p>
<p>That’s it. <i>That’s</i> what gets you. Not the way he’s touching you, not the way his lips were magnetic against your neck for what felt like days earlier, not him admitting that he would have slaughtered an entire village if he thought they were threatening you—all of these vast, valiant contenders to make you cum at just the thought, it’s him telling you he’s <i>not</i> going to fuck you for you to crumple like paper against him. </p>
<p>“I—” you gasp, as his fingers slip up against you again, the middle one slipping in between your legs, large enough that it grazes over a place no one has ever dared to touch before, and you feel like you’ve been punched in the stomach with how hard the aftershocks were coming. His thumb circles you again, and your fingers clutch against the beskar that make up the pauldrons, wanting to feel his skin against your touch, but not even being able to verbalize it a second after the thought flits across your mind. “I want—you.”</p>
<p>“No,” he repeats, and you whine. A real one, like you’re a stingy animal. The version of yourself that existed earlier, when he first started kissing you, is completely gone. You don’t think you’ll ever be satiated again after he’s touched you like this. “I’m going to take my time with you.”</p>
<p>His repeated confession burns somewhere deep and low inside you. You have no idea what to do, still completely reeling from your orgasm. If this were the last second of your life, you think, sleepily, you’d die happy. <br/>“Let me,” you slur, finally, against the beskar where your cheek is resting, “<i>please</i>, let me touch you—”</p>
<p>“No,” he says, again, and it sinks deep inside you, frustratingly. You’re in agony. You can barely keep your eyes open after how hard he made you cum, but you’re begging, beating tiny, senseless fists against his impenetrable armor, whiny and insatiable. “Not yet.”</p>
<p>“But I <i>want</i> to,” you whine again, inconsolable. “I want to lick you, I want to—let me put my tongue on you and make you cum as hard as I just did—”</p>
<p>He sighs, and it’s thick, and you’ve gotten well acquainted with the variance in the noises he makes, and he’s not annoyed with you. He wants it, you realize suddenly, as bad as you do, but he’s holding out. “If your mouth came anywhere near me, right now, I wouldn’t be able to control myself.”</p>
<p>“So?”</p>
<p>He pulls your face back, and it’s gentle, but intentional. “You’d be the first one to ever do it. And, you have to forgive me, you sweet little thing, but I want to savor every second of it.”</p>
<p>You’re reeling, with leftover aftershocks, with his confession, with him calling you sweet for the third time since he put your hands on you back after Dantooine, unsure what to say next. You felt like a spoiled brat, inconsolable, but you balked at the intention of his words.</p>
<p>“But I thought you said—that I’m not your first?”</p>
<p>“Well,” he says, plain and simple, cupping his hands around your cheeks, “You won’t be the first person I’ve fucked.” </p>
<p>You blush, again, possessive and unfairly angry, because he won’t be your first either, but you bit on your tongue and just furrow your eyebrows at him, suddenly glad he can’t see your eyes right now, because you have a feeling that they’d betray everything that you’re feeling. “So why can’t I put my mouth around your—?”</p>
<p>He shudders, slightly. “Because that’s all I’ve ever done.”</p>
<p>You don’t understand. “What?” you manage. </p>
<p>“I’ve never—” he starts, then sighs, and then you realize he sounds nervous, unmoored, not at all the assured, dominant voice that was coming out of him seconds earlier. “I’ve never done anything other than sex.”<br/>“That is sex,” you say, stupidly.</p>
<p>He’s quiet, again, and now you want the blindfold off because your words aren’t working, and you have no idea what he means. “Before you,” he says, quietly, softly, and you can sense how hesitant his confession is, so you shut up and strain your ears, “I’ve only ever…had sex…with one person. It was quick, and it wasn’t…” You can’t tell if he’s stumbling over his words because he doesn’t want to hurt you, but you nod, trying to encourage him. “It wasn’t—good,” he says, quickly, and there seems to be much more weight behind the statement, so you bury the burning pyre of jealousy in your stomach under how much you’re reeling with how much he’s trusting you. “But I’ve never…no one has ever had me like you have.”</p>
<p>Your mouth gapes open, not realizing the significance of the words. “But you said I—” </p>
<p>“No one has touched my face since I was a kid,” he interrupts. “I’ve never been kissed.” He pauses, moving his thumb over your lips, a ghost of a thing, and then clenches both cheeks, lightly, but intentional, “until you.”</p>
<p>You don’t know what to do. Or say. Nothing matches the monument of his confession. You’ve never heard him speak so much consecutively before, and you burn with the knowledge that he not only trusts you enough to tell you this, and burn even hotter with the knowledge that he trusts you enough to kiss him. To touch his bare face.</p>
<p>To be the first one to do that in years. To be the first to do that ever. </p>
<p>“Thank you,” you manage, finally, softly, touching your fingers up to his face again, barely there. He leans into them, without even a second of deliberation. “For trusting me. I…I’m not patient.”</p>
<p>He chuckles, running a hand through your loose hair. “I’ve noticed.”</p>
<p>“But I will be,” you barrel over him, wanting him to understand the gravity of what you’re saying. “I’ll wait years to touch you if it means you’ll trust me to be the one to do it.”</p>
<p>“Oh no,” he says, rubbing slow circles on your scalp as you sigh happily, slumping against him again, boneless, “it won’t take years.”</p>
<p>“Even if it does,” you assure him, sleepily. </p>
<p>“The only years we’re talking about here,” he whispers into your ear as he slowly pulls you down on top of him as he leans back against the floor, orienting you both horizontal as the Razor Crest cuts through the stars, “are how long you’ll spend doing it.”</p>
<p>Your heart swells, an entire crescendo, and you feel that haunting, all-consuming pull of something more blanket the both of you. You fall asleep on the Mandalorian’s chest with only one thing in your head: <i>he feels it too.</i></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i hope you all loved it!!!! the next chapter will be up SOON! i might do another early update, but i start classes back up on Monday (last semester of college, yay!) so the posting schedule might be a bit more up in the air from here on out. i'll let everyone know if i'm planning to post early on my tumblr https://www.tumblr.com/blog/amiedala and my tiktok https://www.tiktok.com/@ammaaay?lang=en, but if not, CHAPTER 6 WILL BE UP @ 7:30 PM EST ON SATURDAY, JANUARY 30TH!!!</p>
<p>i also have been playing a lot with what's canon and shaping my narrator's story around that (hence the mentionof Toro Calican and that connection. if anything about this--or at all!--is confusing, leave me an ask on tumblr and i'll explain!!)</p>
<p>xoxo, amelie</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Gravity</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“He’s dead.” </p><p>You sit down in the holding bay, still confused. “But—”</p><p>“I slit his throat,” he says, his voice unreadable through the modulator. “I’m not collecting anything for him.” Suddenly, too quickly, it all comes rushing into focus. The bounty was Merle. You stifle a small sob, trying to comprehend the gravity of the situation. Regardless if you left the Crest in that ridiculous, half-baked runaway attempt, Mando would have brought Merle back to the ship. Either way, you would have been face to face with your past, painfully, quickly. </p><p>But Mando could have gotten money for him, you realize, he could have dragged Merle alive back to the ship, to trade him into the Guild. But he didn’t. He killed him instead, to protect you. You gasp again, trying to find the words to thank him, for protecting you even when you didn’t deserve it. Even without having to ask him. </p><p>“I—thank you,” you manage. “Thank you, so much.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>SURPRISE AGAIN! i have so much written so i thought i'd give y'all another early upload!! chapter 7 will be up tomorrow night, Saturday, January 30th, at 7:30 pm EST! </p><p>enjoy! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You aren’t shaken awake. And you don’t wake up in Mando’s arms. </p><p>When you do slowly slide your eyes open, itchy and dry with sleep still clinging onto the corners, and stretch your arms up over your head. Eyes still closed, you feel around for the blindfold that lived there the night before, then realize there’s a breeze on your legs, and your eyes fly open. </p><p>You aren’t wearing pants. You feel around, and you realize the shirt that you’re wearing is very much not yours. The underwear you have on are considerably fancier than your normal ones, and everything around you smells like Mando’s soap. Suddenly, you’re wide awake.</p><p>You shiver, standing shakily, rubbing the goosebumps that have risen on your arms. Did the Mandalorian strip you down after you slept and redress you, willingly,<i> in lacy underwear and his clothes</i>? </p><p>You’re absentmindedly pinching the fabric of his shirt, trying to remember why you bought the panties you have on in the first place, because they’re lacy and slightly itchy and very much not practical, running a hand through your hair—and then you remember the events of last night and why you’re wearing something clean. When you came, you soaked everything clean through, and you were sweaty and dirty from your run-in with Merle, and now Mando—</p><p>“Mando,” you say, your voice quiet, and then, rising in volume, “Mando!”</p><p>A helmeted head pops up the hole in the floor of the cockpit. “Good morning.”</p><p>“Good—are you washing my clothes?”</p><p>His helmet turns back to where your clothes are strewn all over the floor in various states of wetness. The baby is sitting in the middle of it all, making a mess out of the ones Mando has very carefully laid out on the ground. Your heart soars. For some reason, this alone makes you want to cry, the gesture of it all swelling inside you. </p><p>“Yes,” he says slowly, and then you’re grinning and scrambling down the ladder, and he sighs from behind you, and you register the reason for the noise when he hitches his big, gloved hands around your hips to help you down the last few steps and slides a single finger under the lace of the waistband. You shudder, the memory of the last time he touched you, all the events of the night before clenching and flooding through your stomach. It flips over for him as he turns you around, gentle but intentioned, and even with the baby watching, he pulls his other hand away from where it’s tangled in your waistband to push the hair out of your face. You sigh, happily, leaning into the glove. </p><p>“And you put these clothes on me?”</p><p>He looks at you, down at his shirt and the fancy underwear, and he inhales, sharply, and then says, “Yes. But I didn’t do anything—I just wanted to get you out of the dirty clothes.”</p><p>Your cheeks flush with the memory associated with the word dirty, and you grin up at him, putting a hand on his shoulder, then on the side of his helmet to pantomime touching his face. “Thank you.” You lean in, making sure the baby is preoccupied, and then, to reassure him in his decision to strip you down after you were asleep, you whisper, “you can get me out of my dirty clothes every night if you want to.”</p><p>“Maybe I will.”</p><p>You smile again, then gesture at the lace that’s riding high on your hips, very aware that his shirt only hits just past your ass, where the bottom half of both cheeks is totally exposed. “You certainly dressed me up.”</p><p>“They were the only ones clean,” he confesses, pointing at the small quantity of rest of your clothes you had hastily rescued from the X-Wing crash, only because they were already in your bag as you were climbing out of the broken cockpit. You really hadn’t done laundry recently, because you lived on the ship and they hadn’t gotten dirty. But after last night’s events, you had a feeling you would be running clean through the small stock of clothes you did own, and you blush again. </p><p>“You didn’t just want me in the lace?” you ask, and he exhales slowly through the modulator. You can tell, even disguised through the helmet, that your question hit in the right spot. You step closer, just slightly, and press your hip and the very top part of your leg in between is, and you can feel him harden underneath your touch. </p><p>“Let’s pretend I did.”</p><p>You smile, winking at him, stepping back against the coolness of the ladder, and you shudder again. “I’m cold.” </p><p>He looks from you to the drying clothes on the floor, to the baby, who coos in agreement. You tiptoe over and pick the kid up, reveling at how quickly he latches onto you, burying his little green fuzzy head into the crook of your neck. You smile over at his dad, loose hair falling in your face again, and Mando just looks at you, and even without the read on his facial expression, you can tell he’s smiling back at you. In whatever way his smile looks like. </p><p><i>This is it</i>, you think, and it’s with that bigness and sureness that you felt the first time that you met him and the baby. <i>This is somehow what the rest of your life looks like</i>. You sigh happily, twirling, trying to find something dry enough to put on. </p><p>“Wear this,” Mando says, and you unfold the ball of black he’s handing you the best you can with only one hand. It’s a pair of black pants, soft but worn, sizes bigger than you typically choose for yourself.</p><p>“These will fall right off me.”</p><p>He tilts his helmet at you, silently, and you burn with the knowledge of his insinuation. </p><p>You grin. “Maybe I’ll tie them tight.”</p><p>“You can,” he offers, and you press another kiss to the baby’s forehead, and he sighs sleepily in your arms, “but that’ll just make it harder for me to get into them later.”</p><p>Your heart does a flip. “Oh yeah?”</p><p>“It’s your choice.”</p><p>You pull them on, clumsily, and when you’re standing and clothed again, Mando grabs your face with one hand and pulls you into him. “Why won’t you get into them now?”</p><p>He plucks the baby out of your grasp, sighing. “Because I have to go see Karga and collect more bounty pucks.” </p><p>The gravity of realization that that’s what you’re doing here is sobering and quick. You feel heavy with remembering that there’s a life outside of the Razor Crest, and somewhere in the back of your mind, the shame and guilt you feel from ever trying to leave it pulses. Yesterday already feels like a lifetime ago. </p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“I don’t want to,” he allows, but his voice already sounds distant. Your heart sinks, and you know you’re being selfish, you know that you can’t get in the way of his literal job, but Maker, you want to. You want to hole away with him on this ship, impenetrable from the dangers that awaited you both outside, for as many years as you both had left. </p><p>“I don’t want you to,” you whisper, something you would have been terrified you’d scare him away with even just a few days ago, but he sighs again and lets you rest your hand in his gloved palm, just for a second.<br/>“I’ll be fast,” he says, and then he climbs the ladder without another word.</p><p>You stand there, confused at his abruptness, and then you slip on some socks that aren’t sopping wet and you follow him. When you get up to the cockpit, you realize that the Crest is about to touch down on Nevarro. You look, dazed, at the navigation panel, and realize you must have slept twelve hours or so last night to swallow up all the distance between here and Dantooine.</p><p>You hadn’t ever slept that well. Not even on Yavin when you were a kid. Not even in your own ship, before you lost it to the smuggler. You curl into a ball on the copilot’s chair, tucking your knees up to your chest. </p><p>Nevarro’s volcanic surface hisses and bubbles as Mando parks close to the same town he met you in. He’s come back here since he picked you up, but you had always slept through the quick transaction. </p><p>“Can I come with you?” The question is blurted out of your mouth, way too fast for you to catch it, and then it’s out in the air, and you’re so anxious for his response. </p><p>“No,” he says, quietly, and that same swooping, sinking feeling in your chest serves as a bitter and stubborn reminder that you’ll never get used to him rejecting your ideas. That fear of rejection had put you in orbit of last night’s events, you remember, embarrassed, especially with the memory of why last night’s events had even transpired. Because you left the ship, and you got yourself into danger. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” you manage, and then his seat is turning around, and you jut your chin onto your knee so that your loose, messy hair hangs in your face, and you don’t have to look at him or his armor head on. <br/>He sighs, more air than anything else, and then he’s tucking your hair behind your ear again, such a small but fierce gesture, and you hum into his hand. </p><p>“Nevarro isn’t safe,” he whispers, his voice falling flat under the modulator. “It’s never been, but even with the town rebuilt and revamped…”</p><p>You nod, closing your eyes. You understand. He’s protecting you, and no matter how much you want to cling to his side everywhere he goes, you know you’re both in more danger when he has you to worry about, too. Even if you were once a Rebel and a fighter pilot, you were better at the helm than you were on your two clumsy feet, and even Nevarro’s molten surface was dangerous. </p><p>“I’ll be here,” you say, and he’s slipping the commlink around your wrist. </p><p>“Don’t take this off,” he insists, kneeling down to level his visor with your eyes. You nod, tipping your forehead against it, just for a second, just so he knows you won’t run this time. He slides his hand over your cheek before he checks on the sleeping baby in his cradle, descends the ladder, and steps out of the Crest. </p><p>You sit there, happily, trying to close your eyes and relive the memory of last night. You can’t have been there for more than a handful of minutes before the commlink buzzes and your heart flips over, sliding from your lazy position in the chair that’s become yours into the pilot’s seat, just in case he’s ran into any trouble. </p><p>“I’m fine,” he reassures, and you sigh into it. </p><p>“What happened to ‘only for emergencies’?” you tease, and when nothing but silence radiates back over the line to you, you swallow. He’s trying to talk to you, and you just made fun of him for it. You smack your forehead, lightly, and then press the button again. “I like that when I’m hearing from you, it’s not an emergency. Love it, actually.”</p><p>He sighs, and you wait with bated breath to try and decode it. “I thought I’d narrate what I’m seeing for you.”</p><p>“Oh,” you say, and fold yourself up again, in his chair, wearing his clothes. Your heart is beating fast and hard, and you realize you’re giddy with excitement. “Do tell.”</p><p>“There’s lava,” he says, and then he’s quiet for a long time, and you think that’s maybe everything he’s relaying to you. But then, “lots of it.”</p><p>“How descriptive,” you say, resting your head on your knee, raising your other leg to rest comfortably against the dashboard. “You paint quite the word picture.” </p><p>Mando chuckles, once, and it sings inside you. That’s a sound you know you’ll never get tired of. “You’re lucky it’s me out here,” he pushes back, “and not the kid. All you’d be getting from him is babbling.”</p><p>“You make a good point.” You smile, front teeth grazing over your lip, still swollen from his kisses the night before. “Wait,” you say, suddenly, bringing your leg down from the dashboard. “You had another bounty to catch—on Dantooine, you had one more before you could return them to Karga—” You pause, heart hammering wildly in the realization that his rescue from your stupid adventure yesterday prevented him from getting the bounty he was on the planet for in the first place. “I’m so sorry,” you apologize, voice shaky with the weight of it. </p><p>“I got him.” Mando says it softly but intentionally. “Don’t worry.”</p><p>“But—” </p><p>He says your name, and your breath catches in your throat with the sound of it. “Trust me.”</p><p>“Okay,” you say, still wallowing in guilt. “How are you lugging the carbonite to your meeting?”</p><p>“Drag them.”</p><p>You furrow your eyebrows, get up from the chair, descend the ladder. The three blocks of carbonite that had amassed after you pushed the Twi’lek into the gas have vanished. You look back and forth between the commlink and the tiny holding bay. “You <i>dragged</i> them? All the way to town?”</p><p>“They’re not heavy.”</p><p>You balk. If three people in carbonite weren’t heavy, he could probably throw you up in the air like the baby’s little silver ball, catch you with one hand. The thought ripples through you, and you shake your head clear of the thought. “Wait, but you—now you have four of them?”</p><p>Mando’s silent for a moment, and you think that maybe he’s gotten into town and is on higher alert, but then he breathes over the commlink. Something about his silence makes you a little uneasy—you know he’s hiding something from you, and you want to know what it is. <br/>“I only have three,” he says, finally.<br/>“But then you’re not done,” you repeat, stupidly, completely in the dark. “Why did we leave Dantooine if you didn’t have the other bounty?” You can feel that slick, heavy guilt flooding through you again, wanting to apologize for the circumstances you put him through for years and years. </p><p>“I didn’t need him.” </p><p>“Mando,” you whisper, still not understanding, “what do you mean?”</p><p>He’s quiet, again, and you have the feeling that you should know what he’s trying to say, but you still feel waterlogged and completely lost. You try to ask him again before he interrupts you, and you shut up the second his words filter through over yours. </p><p>“He’s dead.” </p><p>You sit down in the holding bay, still confused. “But—”</p><p>“I slit his throat,” he says, his voice unreadable through the modulator. “I’m not collecting anything for him.” Suddenly, too quickly, it all comes rushing into focus. The bounty was Merle. You stifle a small sob, trying to comprehend the gravity of the situation. Regardless if you left the Crest in that ridiculous, half-baked runaway attempt, Mando would have brought Merle back to the ship. Either way, you would have been face to face with your past, painfully, quickly. </p><p>But Mando could have gotten money for him, you realize, he could have dragged Merle alive back to the ship, to trade him into the Guild. But he didn’t. He killed him instead, to protect you. You gasp again, trying to find the words to thank him, for protecting you even when you didn’t deserve it. Even without having to ask him. </p><p>“I—thank you,” you manage. “Thank you, so much.”</p><p>“You don’t have to,” he whispers back, “thank me. I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but in any circumstance, if I saw him there, holding a knife to you, having men hold you down…” he sighs, darkly, deeply, and you curl up even tighter against the cold wall of the Crest. “He’d be dead either way,” Mando finally says, and you don’t know if you fully believe him, but you nod against the commlink. "I have to go,” he says, and the warning is abrupt, but you’re happy he managed to give one at all. </p><p>“Be safe,” you whisper, trying to load your voice with as much gravity and gratitude as you can in the economy of those two words, and he waits a second before he clicks off. Just one minute of bated silence, but it’s a salutation, an understanding. You curl yourself up into a ball, smell his shirt against your skin, and let him go. </p><p> </p><p>You love the Razor Crest. It’s a hunk of junk, and it rebels against you like a teenager whenever you try to pilot it any faster and quicker than the way Mando handles it, but in the last six weeks, it’s become more of a home to you than anywhere else has ever been. You love to sit in the dark hull as you move through space, steadily and surely, with no intentions of going anywhere ever again after so much life of solitude. But right now, it feels like a prison. </p><p>You can’t exactly pinpoint when being on the ship felt like being closed off from anything, but you know ever since you were pulled right into the Mandalorian’s orbit, ever since he touched you for the first time, any time spent without him in the hull feels like you’re trapped. Even the baby struggles to give you solace today, especially knowing that Mando’s going back to Karga with one less bounty than there is pucks, and your heart wrenches itself into the not. </p><p>The baby coos, and you startle, dropping the small insignia on your silver necklace back against Mando’s giant shirt. You pull him into your lap, pressing your forehead to him. </p><p>“What’s up, baby?” you ask, and he pulls on your necklace. It glints in the low light like his little silver ball does, and you can feel him tug at it, gently, with his little stubby fingers, and something pulls in your chest. “No, bug, you can’t have this, I’m sorry.”</p><p>His little eyes well up, and that alone is almost enough to undo the clasp and slip it over his head, but you gently use your finger to hook the line of the necklace that you know Mando gave him not too long ago. You don’t know if he can understand what you’re doing as you strain the chain over your thumb so that both silver pendants clink together, softly, so you grab his little hand with your free one. </p><p>“Your daddy gave this to you, right?”</p><p>His big eyes fill up with happiness as he coos in agreement. </p><p>“Well, my necklace is from my parents, too. I wear it every day to keep them close to me, like you wear yours to keep him close to you.” You tip your forehead into his again, gently, and then pinch the Rebel insignia between your fingers. As you lay back, he looks up at you again, with those big, bright, sad eyes, and somehow, you know what he means. You shake your head, just a little, just to answer his unspoken question. “No, bug, they’re not coming back.”</p><p>You can’t take it when his eyes well up with the truth of it, so you scrunch up your face at him. “Don’t worry,” you whisper, pulling him into your arms, “I have them right here.” You tap a circle around your pendant, around your heart like a hex. “And I have myself another family now.” </p><p>He looks at you in confusion, and you tap his pendant, then touch your finger to his tiny nose. </p><p>“You,” you say, so quietly that only his giant ears could pick it up, “both of you.”</p><p>“Hey,” comes a modulated voice, and you startle, looking wildly around to where it’s coming from until you see the red blinking of the commlink on your wrist. “I’m coming back.”</p><p>“Good,” you breathe, cuddling the baby against your chest. </p><p>“I’ve got company,” he says, darkly, and you push yourself upward in one fluid motion, setting the baby back into his cradle even as he cries out for you, picking up your dried clothes and shoving them into your pack. You flail a hand at your leg, panicked, before you realize your belt and holster aren’t on you because you’re still wearing Mando’s pants, and you yank them down and trip into your own ones instead, which are a lot less comfortable, but they still smell like him, and you slide your blaster into the holster. Your own speed impresses you. </p><p>“Should I hide?” you whisper, leftover fear from yesterday and the other close encounters you’ve had on the ship running miles through your body. “Should I hide the kid?”</p><p>He takes forever to answer, so you pull the baby’s egg closed and push him into the alcove where his dad’s bed is, and you bend down behind the armory, blaster in hand. “Hey,” you say, urgently, “Mando, what do I need to expect—”</p><p>The hiss of the disengaged gangplank cuts you off, and you click the safety off the blaster, tucking all your loose hair behind your ears, ready to shoot if you need to. You leap out from the small hiding place you were crouched under, and the man next to the Mandalorian recoils and swears at the sight of you, steps back, and then looks incredulously between you and Mando. </p><p>“You know her?” He asks, clearly affronted, but it’s barreled over by your, “You know him?”</p><p>Mando’s visor moves back and forth between the two of you, and then gives a short, curt nod. The man next to you—hefty, well-dressed, with a booming voice—sighs, slaps an arm on Mando’s stoic shoulder, and extends a gloved hand to you. </p><p>“You’ve been keeping quite the company, Mando,” he says, and the volume of his voice compared to Mando’s brooding silence is almost deafening. “Pleased to meet you, darling. I’m Greef Karga—”</p><p>“She has a name,” Mando interrupts, and your eyes widen a fraction at his blatant insistence, as if he hasn’t called you “hey” and “sweet thing” in every interaction you’ve ever had with him, save for the two times he actually wrapped his mouth around your name at all. </p><p>You introduce yourself. “I’ve heard so much about you.” You aren’t sure what Mando’s reserve is about, especially since he lets Karga pick up the baby, who has maneuvered himself out of the alcove and is now standing with grabby hands at one of Karga’s boots, ready to be held. You furrow your eyebrows at him, and he sighs, and the sound is all noise. All annoyance. </p><p>“I haven’t heard anything about you,” Karga replies, knocking his elbow into Mando’s beskar. He is literally just standing there, as frozen as his bounties were in the carbonite. You look at him again, trying to figure out why he’s so grumpy, but Karga reaches out and points at you. “Until today, when Mando returned three bounties to me and told me that he killed the other one!”</p><p>Your gratitude and embarrassment about the whole thing ripples through you at the same time, and you have to force yourself not to wince. “That was my fault.”</p><p>“I gave him Merle Calican’s bounty puck,” Karga continuous, and you clench your teeth at the mention of his name, “as a long shot. I didn’t think anyone would be able to bring him in. Turns out,” he laughs, “I was right! I heard it through the grapevine that Mando slit his throat in the middle of Dantooine.”</p><p>“He’s worth more dead than he is alive,” comes Mando’s voice through the modulator, but you can tell how dark and furious it is, and you wrap your arms around yourself in his big shirt, pretending just for a second that it’s his arms instead. </p><p>“No question,” Karga agrees, and at this, you startle. You’d known Merle to be a hotshot on Corellia, and you knew that he had a dark and dirty reputation to double cross anyone that wasn’t in his inner circle. And you knew that once he held a grudge, it was forever—or at least, until the person the grudge was against was dead. You knew he was persistent, wily, lethal. But you’d never heard his name again after your narrow escape from him and his men back on Coruscant, after you’d accidentally killed Jacterr, after you ran for your life. Hearing him mentioned from someone else who didn’t know him up close was alarming. “I gotta tell you, Mando, I am happier he’s dead than I would be if you brought him in alive. That was one twisted son of a gundark. That whole family is cursed.” </p><p>You look nervously at Mando, again, who still hasn’t moved a muscle. The <i>whole family</i>? As far as you knew, Jacterr was Merle’s only brother. You bite your nails. Slowly, Mando nods. You don’t know what to say next, and you’re not sure if you want to ask Karga how he knew Merle, so you just stand there, watching the baby reach from Karga to his dad, and Mando hoists him into his own arms. </p><p>“Well, I’ll better be going,” Karga says, finally, and even though he’s much more pleasant than you would have imagined, you’re happy he’s leaving. You move closer to Mando as he steps away, finger finding your necklace again. “It was nice meeting you. Hopefully next time, you’ll come explore the town.”</p><p>“Probably won’t be anytime soon,” Mando finally says, raising a halfhearted hand at Karga, “you gave me some tough catches.”</p><p>“You’ll get them,” Karga says, easily. “And when you do, you’re both welcome on Nevarro.”</p><p>You smile at him, giving him a little wave. Mando nods at him.</p><p>“I’ll tell Cara you both said hello,” he says, and then the gangplank is engaged, and Nevarro’s molten surface disappears. Cara? <i>Both?</i></p><p>The second the airlock tightens again, Mando grabs your chin gently. You sag into him, happy to see him upright, unharmed. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” he says, and an apology from him still doesn’t sound real. You furrow your eyebrows at him, trying to understand what in the world he’s sorry for. </p><p>“You came back,” you say, confused, “within a few hours and without getting hurt. Why are you sorry?”</p><p>“That was unexpected,” Mando sighs, and lets the baby down from his arms so he can toddle across the floor to a bag of food that Karga brought. Mando tucks your loose hair behind your ear, the gesture already so familiar, so warm, and you sag against him. “He wouldn’t stop talking.”</p><p>You smile up at him. “He talks less than me.”</p><p>He sighs, but it’s just air. “I like your voice better.”</p><p>You blush, trying, impossibly, to catch a glimpse of his eyes behind the visor. “I thought you were friends with him.”</p><p>“He did try to kill me once,” Mando says, and at the baby’s angry reprimand, he shakes his head, “although, I tried to kill him too, so maybe we’re even.” He pauses. “And he’s too friendly. With you.” </p><p>You squint at him, ignoring the second admission, even as it does backflips in your chest. “What in the universe <i>happened</i> to you before I boarded your ship?”</p><p>He brings one gloved hand to your face again, and you sigh happily. “Nothing spectacular.”</p><p>You don’t want to say it. And you’re trying not to be jealous. But her name has been written across your head since Karga said it, said that he’d tell her you both said hello, especially since he didn’t know of your existence before today. “Cara?”</p><p>At the mention of her name, the baby coos in delight, and Mando looks from him and back to you.</p><p>You don’t know what to expect, but when he says it, it still throws you off guard. “I guess she’d be the one I call a friend.”</p><p>“Oh,” you say, in a tone you think is neutral, and then he’s cupping your face in his hands again, and it feels like everything else in the atmosphere has been filtered out. </p><p>“She’s the reason you met me,” he says, softly.</p><p>“Mmm,” you say, not needing him to elaborate, “then maybe I should have told Karga to thank her instead.” </p><p>He just looks down at you, unreadable through the visor. “She made me wait to leave the planet after the battle here. I wasn’t going to, but then I saw your ship crash.” He pauses. “You’ll like her.”</p><p>You beam at him. “For that alone, I do already.” </p><p>“She’s an ex-shocktrooper.” </p><p>You gape at him, both because he’s willingly offering you information and because that is an impressive title, and when you regain your words, all you can manage is, “Wow.”</p><p>He nods, moving his hands to your waist, and you sigh happily. “Come with me.”</p><p>You follow him, silently, up the ladder, looking at the baby for a second, trying to decide if you want him to come, too, but Mando hoists you up the last two steps, and you decide you love the baby, but you’d very much like him to stay hidden away for whatever happens next. </p><p>Mando leads you over to the pilot’s seat, slowly but forcefully, and you hum when he pushes down lightly on your shoulders to make your knees buckle and get you in the chair. You love the view from here, the way the stars streak past you, the way it looks like the entire galaxy is at your fingertips. </p><p>“Don’t turn around,” Mando says, and you oblige, happily looking out at the universe around you. “Hold your hand up.” </p><p>You do, in front of you at first, and then over your shoulder when you realize he’s not moving, and he places three bounty trackers in your hand. </p><p>Your eyebrows furrow, and then you remember he can’t see you, so you ask, “What am I—supposed to do with these?”</p><p>Slowly, agonizingly, Mando’s hand moves from your shoulders to the chair, and he spins you around. You look up at him, realizing again that you’re at the perfect angle to take every inch of him down your throat, and you gulp, trying to keep your eyes on him with some semblance of focus.</p><p>“You’re going to pick which one we go after next.”</p><p>You gape at him. “But there’s—there’s an order to it, you work your way out and back again, right? Or you go for the easiest catches first?”</p><p>He nods. “Not this time.”</p><p>You bite your lip in confusion, gaze flickering back and forth between him and the flashing pucks in your hand. “This one,” you say, suddenly, grabbing the one in the middle.</p><p>He looks down at you, and then grabs your throat, just with his fingertips, a ghost of a thing, and your whole body shudders, every nerve in you pulsing and alive. “Good girl,” he says, and you gasp again. </p><p>“Which one did I pick?”</p><p>Mando lowers himself down to where he’s level with you, and your heart is about to burst out of your chest with it. You want him, you want everything about him, the blood rushing in your ears is blocking every single other thought out—and then you realize he’s speaking.</p><p>“The furthest one,” he sighs through the modulator.</p><p>“And that’s good?”</p><p>“Oh, yes,” he says, tracing his gloved hand down your body from your collarbone to your bellybutton. “It means I get to make good on that promise I made to you last night.”</p><p>You’re heaving, already, it feels like all the air in the Crest has been sucked clean out. “What promise?” you squeak out, finding it nearly impossible to focus on anything else than where his fingers moving. </p><p>“I’m going to get to take my time with you,” Mando whispers, and when his hand sinks down in between your thighs again, everything else in the entire galaxy stops.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>CHAPTER 7 WILL BE UP SAME TIME SAME PLACE, 7:30PM TOMORROW, SATURDAY THE 30TH EST!!</p><p>thank you all SO MUCH for all the love!! i promise there's SO much more coming &lt;3 it's been such a joy sharing this with y'all. can't wait to hear what you think!!! i'll be hanging around my tumblr inbox all weekend if you wanna chat about Something More at all!</p><p>xoxo, amelie</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Keep Your Eyes Closed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Can you promise me something?” </p><p>You look up at him, earnest. Your eyelashes flutter with the truth of it. “Yes.”</p><p>“Keep your eyes closed,” he warns, and before you can do anything, “don’t look.”</p><p>Your eyes squeeze shut immediately, both of your hands covering your sockets. You hold them until you see stars. “I promise,” you say, quickly, keeping your fingers pressed there, and then harder still when you hear the hiss of his helmet disengaging. You’re so still. You don’t dare move until he touches your face with his bare hands, and you gasp at the recognition of it.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>more steamy stuff! we're really in it now!!!</p><p>today's chapter is dedicated to Sam, HAPPY BIRTHDAY ANGEL!!! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You think you’re going to have to do laundry every day. He soaked you clean through again for the second night in the row. His hand hasn’t even touched your bare skin, let alone been inside you, and this is still the best sex you’ve ever had. By miles.</p><p>He’s sleeping on the floor with you right now, the armor looking entirely too foreign and shiny against the nest of clothes and blankets you usually cocoon yourself up in, and you’re just chancing glances at him while he’s lying there. You want to kiss him again, but he hasn’t taken off the helmet since the first time, and you don’t want to push him on a matter that seems so monumental to him. So you lay, in silence, watching the stars pass through his entire reflective body. </p><p>“Are you awake?” you whisper, barely air at all, because you don’t want to wake him if there’s no reason to. You huddle in closer to his body, and even with all the beskar, it’s not entirely uncomfortable. </p><p>After what feels like full minutes of silence, the modulator clicks out a “yes”, and you startle at it.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” you say, immediately, “I didn’t mean to—”</p><p>“Why are you wide awake?” he asks, shifting so that his head is facing you again, and you happily tilt your forehead against his visor, meeting him in the middle. “You should sleep.”</p><p>You stare at him. “You should sleep.”</p><p>He’s quiet, for a while, just enjoying the silence and the darkness around you. You join him. You think maybe there’s finally a chance when he lifts one of his gloved hands, quietly, and brushes phantom hair away from your face. </p><p>You hum happily, again, grinning against the gesture. “Thank you.”</p><p>“You wanted me to kill him,” Mando says, and you startle, “right?”</p><p>You, regrettably, don’t know who he’s referring to. “Merle?”</p><p>He sighs, and you know how much this is bothering him, so you shift from your back to your side so that you’re right up against him. He holds his hand up to your arm, thumb stroking gently. It’s an awkward action, he hasn’t figured out the rhythm yet, but he’s trying. “Yes.”</p><p>“Yes. I did,” you admit, and the truth of it hits you head on, so you look up out the window, trying to figure out a way to explain the entire situation to him without having to dredge up the pain and the trauma of it all. “I…I knew him. In my old life.”</p><p>Mando’s silent, but his thumb is still stroking your arm. He’s earnest with it, the gesture, and you swallow. </p><p>“We got into…trouble,” you manage, not lying, but not telling the full truth, either. “It was a mission that went bad. I was too close for comfort.” You pause, closing your eyes against the impact of your words. “There was an accident. I—his brother got killed.” You swallow again. “Merle blamed me for it. He was tracking me down.”</p><p>“Retribution,” Mando says, softly, and you nod. “He’s not going to hurt you again.”</p><p>You press your forehead to his visor, hoping the gesture tells him more than you ever could. “Thank you,” you whisper. “I’m sorry you didn’t collect money for your bounty. I’m sorry I left at all, it was so stupid—” </p><p>“I’m glad he’s dead,” Mando interrupts, and your eyes fly open, trying to search for his. It’s a vain effort, one that will always yield the same disappointing results, but you can’t seem to stop yourself. “I’m glad his brothers are too.”</p><p>There’s that plurality again, and it hurtles through you like it did when Greef Karga insinuated that Mando knew another Calican. You don’t want to ask, because you don’t think you can admit what you did, how you wounded Jacterr, out loud. But by some divine ruling, Mando sighs, hooking a gloved finger under your chin. </p><p>“Did you—?”</p><p>“I ran into Toro Calican,” he says, darkly, “on Tatooine, a few weeks before I met you. He had just joined the Guild and wanted my help in catching Fennec Shand.” You vaguely recognize her name, and you nod at him, encouraging him to go on. “He double-crossed me and tried to kill the kid.”</p><p>There’s a finality to that, one so certain that you don’t need to ask your next question, but you do anyways. “Is he—” </p><p>“Dead,” Mando interrupts. The silence of the hull around you swells with the knowledge of it. “You don’t have to worry about him, either.”</p><p>“I didn’t know,” you whisper, “that there was another brother…I only knew the two.”</p><p>“That’s it,” Mando says, gruffly. “I looked them all up after I killed the one on Dantooine. The…one who was hurting you.”</p><p>You swallow. </p><p>“It’s just the three of them,” Mando reassures, “and they’re all dead. Toro, Merle…” he pauses. “And Jacterr. I promise.” </p><p>You nod, because no words are coming to the surface. You’re equal parts relieved and overwhelmed, and all you can do is bury your head into the Mandalorian’s neck. He pulls you up close to him, silently and easily, and lets you. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>You’re not sure how long you’ve been asleep. You don’t know how time passes when you’re entangled with the Mandalorian. When you wake up, the deep quiet of space is still passing quietly all around you, and you stare at the lazy stars before you realize you’re not in hyperspace. </p><p>“You’re awake.”</p><p>You look up. Mando’s in the pilot’s seat, and you smile sleepily at him. “<i>You’re</i> awake.”</p><p>He’s just looking at you. His silence is so much less intimidating, now, but still, it makes you balk a little bit in comparison with the conversation you’d had pressed up against him.</p><p>You raise your eyebrows, and gesture softly at the space around you. “We aren’t moving very fast.”</p><p>He nods, again, and you bite your lip, letting your hair fall in your face as you do so. You’re still in his giant shirt, and you pull it up, only a blip, to scratch your stomach, where all the bruises from Corellia have yellowed and faded. His visor dips, just for a second, and you smile up at him. </p><p>He sighs. You look. After a few painful seconds, he reaches forward and tucks the hair behind your ear, intentional and soft. “We’re in no rush.”</p><p>You squint. “We have bounties to catch.”</p><p>He leans back, and you already miss his gloved hands on your skin. “We have time.”</p><p>You bite your lip again, trying to decode his gestures, his silence. He seems so close and so far away, all at once. You want to go up to him, or to pull him back down on the floor again, but you think either choice may be the wrong one. </p><p>“Am I distracting you?” you chance, your heart a butterfly in your chest, fearful and anxious. “From your job, I mean? Ever since I came aboard, you’ve seemed to—you spend more time taking care of me than you do actually hunting—” </p><p>“Hey. Stop talking.”</p><p>You oblige. </p><p>His visor tips up, and you furrow your eyebrows, somehow just a second away from tears. You don’t know why this is bothering you so much. </p><p>“Come here.” </p><p>You do. It takes a second to push yourself off your knees, to get standing in one fluid motion, but you’re up and you’re stepping toward him, quiet in your movement. You don’t know where to stand, but he spreads his legs open and takes a hand and pulls you between them.</p><p>Even sitting, his helmet is almost level to your neck. You swallow as he tilts it upward, moving both hands to your hips. </p><p>“My job is easy. Easier now that you’re watching the kid and I can just go out and collect the bounties without having to worry about his safety.”</p><p>“So…I’m not distracting you?”</p><p>He looks at you, thumb stroking against where you’re dressed in your shirt. It’s still intentional, but it’s less hesitant. You smile at him, placing both hands on the pauldrons that cover his wide shoulders. </p><p>“Oh, you are absolutely distracting me, pretty girl,” Mando says, and you sigh loudly, leaning into the grip you have his shoulders by, trying to stabilize yourself. “But it’s a good distraction.”</p><p>“Happy to be of service.” You smile, stroking a hand over his helmet in a thoughtless, artificial gesture. It feels cold to your touch, and you realize in embarrassment you did it to run your fingers through his hair. Hair you’ve never seen. Hair of a length you don’t know. You flush in embarrassment, but his hands just squeeze you tighter, and you look down at him, overwhelmed at how good it feels to have everything you’d ever dreamed of right at your fingertips. It feels good with him. And more than that, it feels right. And even though you know how new this is, that you scare easy, that you’re the first person to ever be remotely close to him, you feel something deep and resonant with him. Something real. Something more. </p><p>“Come here,” Mando says again, and before you can ask where he means, he turns your waist around, and then pulls you down on the cold beskar of his knee, facing you out toward the stars. Even the shock of the cool metal against the bare skin of your thigh doesn’t bother you, and as you stare out at the galaxy around you, his gloved hands encircle your waist, folding your torso fully into him. </p><p>“Wow,” you whisper, both the sight outside of the Crest and the home you feel within it. </p><p>“We’re not in hyperspace,” Mando whispers, the closeness of his voice through the modulator in your right ear, his helmet glancing off your face, “because I want to savor every second I can on the ship.” </p><p>“How could I complain about that,” you manage, as his hand slips up your stomach, just slightly, to hold you there. You recoil, just a little, because you’re still not used to anyone touching the place where you’ve been scarred, but you lean into his hand, gentle and caring. </p><p>“How are you feeling?” he whispers, lowly, and you tip back against his touch, straining your neck backward. Even helmeted, he’s gorgeous upside down. You smile at him, and he pulls his hands up the center of your body, glancing off your abdomen, trailing up your chest, and you shudder as they finally make their way into your hair. </p><p>“Better now,” you manage, that thrumming low in your belly warm and unable to be ignored. “Everything…” you swallow as his fingers start massaging your scalp, “everything feels better, when you’re here.”<br/>
He’s still silently stroking your hair. You don’t know what else to say or do, but his hands are on you, in the kind of gentle way he only reserves for you and the baby, and you just savor it, staring at his visor upside down. </p><p>“Sit up,” he says, and you do, slowly, his long fingers helping your neck stretch back the right way, sighing as they press into the sore muscles. </p><p>You’re staring ahead, again, looking out at the massive collection of stars and blips of planets around you. You don’t know where you are, right now, not sure if you’re even close to Nevarro, or how fast the Crest moves when it’s not in hyperspace. You don’t care, you decide happily, as his gloved fingers press into your neck again, feeling how the warmth he brings spreads through the entirety of your body. You close your eyes against the feeling, just thinking about how good he feels, how even despite your cravings to have every inch of him, you could stay here, suspended in this moment, forever. </p><p>“Hey,” he says, and you don’t register he’s talking until he lilts out, “pretty girl.” </p><p>Your stomach swells at the nickname. “Is that—is that what you’re calling me, now?”</p><p>His fingers stop moving at the nape of your neck, and you freeze.</p><p>“Is that not—okay?”</p><p>“No,” you say, too loudly, “<i>no</i>, I like it—I love that you keep me guessing which one you’re going to use next.”</p><p>At this, he spins you around in the chair again, and you swallow as he squats down to bring the visor level to your face. You gulp.</p><p>“Which…one?”</p><p>“You—you call me pretty girl, and then sometimes you call me sweet thing—and one time,” you say, breathing heavily as his helmet is cocked to the left, “one time, you called me good girl before you left on your hunt, and it—it was all I could think about for two straight days.”</p><p>He’s just staring at you. You swallow again, wanting to sit on your hands so you don’t reach out to him and scare him away, because even though his silence doesn’t intimidate you anymore, it’s still so palpable, so heavy. </p><p>“You are,” he says, finally, “a good girl.”</p><p>You stop breathing. </p><p>“What’s your favorite?” he asks, lowly, and your eyes flutter, oscillating from where his visor is to the hand that’s slowly creping up your right thigh. </p><p>“I do not have one,” you blurt out, moving your hand, completely unaware of what you’re doing until it collides with his chest, clawing desperately at the metal hiding it away from you. “You can call me anything—<i>anything</i> you want, and I’ll love it.”</p><p>Before you can react, he grabs your face with his free hand, lightly, possessively, and you lean into it, sighing happily. “Bite,” he says, and you gawk at him in the darkness of the hull surrounding you. </p><p>“Huh?” you manage, breath shaky, wind knocked out of you. </p><p>“Bite this,” he repeats, and lays his thumb against your slightly open mouth. You slip the gloved finger into your mouth, with zero regard of how dirtied it’s been since the last time he washed it. It doesn’t taste like anything other than leather and metal, and you cinch your teeth around it for a second, trying to see if that’s what he wants.</p><p>It is. He pulls his hand out of it, and you moan through the muffled glove in your mouth, watching as his skin slides out. </p><p>“Good girl,” he says, and you gasp. His hand is just as tanned and rich as that sliver of stomach was when you patched him back up on Coruscant, and you swallow around the fabric in between your teeth as he takes his hand, gently lifts your chin, and slides his glove out. You sigh as it moves through your hair, unmoored and messy. He loves your hair, you’ve noticed, he fixates on it, in whatever state it’s in. You want to know why he loves it so much, if it’s just that it’s a part of himself that’s always been hidden, but that desire slowly drips out of you as he moves his unmasked hand down your jawline, finding the pulse points on your neck. </p><p>That feeling in the pit of your stomach, that giant cosmic connection, floods you. At least, that’s what you’re telling yourself, because you don’t know how else to explain how he’s barely touched you, and it’s all been above your collarbone, and you’re already wet again. He holds his thumb into a pressure point, just for a second, and you sigh against it, stars threatening at the corner of your eyes.</p><p>“I want you,” you admit, voice much too loud against the silence of the hull and the space surrounding you, but you don’t care. “I’m—sorry,” you finish, stupidly, after a second because you’re already charging a path you know he’s never been down before. You bite your lip, looking up at him, where he’s adjusted to standing in front of you again, hulking and quiet. You place just the very fingertips of your right hand against his thigh, on top of the beskar, just to show him that you weren’t going to touch any part of him without explicit permission. You hold it there, a mirror image of him holding his own unmasked hand against your jawline. You inhale, looking up at him. “I won’t touch you. I won’t do anything—” you pause, the words not sounding right, too desperate, not convincing, and you steel yourself, “—until you’re ready. Until you tell me to.” </p><p>He just stares down at you, and as much as the pressure’s building up inside your chest, you wait there, fingers as resolute and calm as they could be, and he takes his ungloved hand and slowly touches it over yours on his thigh, his fingers so much softer and gentler against the tender flesh of your hand than it was on your face. You swallow, waiting for him to remove it.</p><p>But he doesn’t. For a second, he doesn’t do anything, It’s just the two of you, the space around you, and the suspended feeling of his hand over yours. And then he does, and you’re expecting him to move an inch back to slide in between the beskar is notched together, but he takes it and abruptly pushes it up and over to the left, and before you can react, you realize your hand is over something hard, swelling, warm—</p><p>You’re touching the Mandalorian’s cock. You bite down on your moan, trying to not be too loud, but he sighs against your own noise, and he’s twitching under your grasp. You just stare, trying to take in how much bigger he is than your tiny hand, and you finally move your eyes from where they’ve been locked on the bulge under your fingers to the visor covering his face. </p><p>“You can,” he starts, and Maker, even through the modulator, you can hear how breathy his voice is, “touch me.”</p><p>“Are you sure?” you whisper, and he nods. “You have to tell me out loud, or I won’t move—I know how—significant, this is—”</p><p>“Please,” he groans, and that warm wetness pools between your legs as he does, “please touch me, sweet thing, please—”</p><p>It’s enough. You do. You’re not the best with your hands in the important ways—you’re a shitty mechanic, and you’re only an okay shot, and for some reason, the Razor Crest tries to reject your touch whenever you try to pilot it in dire circumstances—but this, you know you’re good at. Even through the fabric of his pants, you can palm him, move your hand up and down, back and forth, using the tip of your thumb to gently rub over the head, and even through the fabric, you can feel him starting to leak through. He gasps as you separate your pointer from your middle finger, and run him that way, through your knuckles, and quickly, you switch back to your full hand, snaking your other hand around his other leg to bring him into you, stable and steady. </p><p>“How does this—” you start, and then he moans through the modulator, not just air, not just noise, a real, full-fledged moan, and you can feel the slick between your own legs start to seep even further, and you swallow. </p><p>“So good,” he says, his head thrown back. “I need—I need,” he says, suddenly, and he’s pushing you away, and your fingers slip away from the hardness, and you try your best to not feel rejected, because you know how much this means to him, but then, suddenly, you’re also being pulled up, and then both of you are falling onto the floor, and he tries to catch you. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, laying back, “but I couldn’t stand—is this okay, to do this on the floor—?”</p><p>You smile at him, through the darkness, helping him lay back against it. You scoot over to his left, bending over him, hand hovering over his cock again. “The floor is even better,” you whisper, “I quite like the floor myself—” and then he’s interrupting you again, grabbing your wrist and pulling your hand down on top of where he’s hard and dripping. “What do you want?” you ask, quiet. You’re still rubbing, and his breath is still hitching, and the feeling of being the first one allowed to do this keeps swelling in your chest, blacking everything else out. He’s all you’ve ever wanted, the only pulse in the galaxy as far as you’re concerned, and even though you’re touching him, you feel close yourself, which is ridiculous and would absolutely be an exaggeration except it’s not. “I’ll do—I’ll give you anything you want.”</p><p>He gasps, again, and you keep touching him, because you don’t know what else he’s up for and because you’re having a hard time focusing on anything else, and then his ungloved hand is fumbling against the seam of his pants, and before you can react, they’re off. You stare at him, at the end of hair trailing down between his hips, at how big he is under there, just absolutely gawking. “What do you—” you start again, voice faraway and squeaky, and again, he grabs your hand and redirects it on top of him. His skin is so soft, you think, electric, as you close your fist gently around the shaft and moving it up and down. He moans again, and you have to grit your teeth to not echo him. </p><p>You watch as a bead of precum leaks out of him, and your lips part. You feel dazed. Every single part of you is on fire. You don’t know what you’re doing, and before you can stop to ask his explicit permission, you lean down to lick it off with the tip of your tongue, and the second you touch it, more comes out, and then he’s straining, swearing behind the helmet, grabbing the back of your neck so that you can gulp down on him, and your mouth barely encloses over the tip before he lets go, shooting it all into your mouth. You’re frozen, trying to swallow him and taste him and stay in the same position so that he doesn’t slip further down your throat, and then he gasps again, and you’re still there, just swelling with what you’ve just done.</p><p>Finally, painstakingly, you lift off him as he’s still trying to catch his breath, swallowing the dregs of him. You’re back on your knees, slumped against the floor, staring down at him, terrified that what you just did overstepped. </p><p>“I’m—so sorry,” you breathe, and he’s sitting up. </p><p>“That was—incredible,” he interrupts, and both of you are suspended for a second. “Why are you apologizing?”</p><p>“Oh,” you say, breathily, and then his bare thumb is on the corner of your mouth, wiping away the last drop of him that had collected there, “was that okay? That I did that?”</p><p>He’s staring at you. You know it. You can feel it, even under the visor. “Are you kidding?”</p><p>“You,” you start, sighing as his hand finds your cheek, “you said you’d never done that before, that no one has—touched your face, or kissed you, and I didn’t know if it would be okay if—”</p><p>“If you got me off?” he interrupts, again, and your breath hitches in your throat. “I told you when you did—it would be quick, was that too fast—”</p><p>You stare at each other. “That was—amazing,” you finally say. “I mean it. I was scared of going…going too far with you,” you admit, “that’s all, and I froze at the end when you didn’t tell me if it was okay if I put you in my mouth.”</p><p>He sighs. “My sweet girl,” he says, and the addition of his possessiveness makes your heart flip over backwards. “There isn’t anything…anything you could do to me that I wouldn’t want.” </p><p>You beam at him, the connotation of how long that evokes colliding with him calling you his, and you slowly sink against his chest on the floor, the whole ship suddenly overflowing with stars. </p><p> </p><p>It’s quiet in the night. But you’re not sure if it’s night, not sure where the Crest is drifting through the galaxy, but either way, you wake up. You’re huddled against Mando’s chest, and you’re amazed at how comfortable the beskar can be when you’re pressed up against him. You watch as you drift past those tiny pinpricks of light, looking down sleepily to realize he’s draped a blanket over you, covering your bare legs with cloth. You don’t say anything, just staring at him, propped up on a single elbow, adoring.</p><p>“You should be sleeping,” he says, the modulator quiet and even, and you startle. </p><p>“I’m not tired,” you say, and then a traitorous yawn works itself out of your mouth. </p><p>He lifts a hand to your face, gently pulling it into his chest. You want to argue, want to just spend the rest of the time in here watching him, but he’s warm, and enveloping, so you let yourself be magnetized against all his metal. </p><p>“Thank you,” he murmurs. </p><p>You lift your head, just an inch, and he strokes his hand through your hair. Lulled, you mumble a soft “for what?” against his chest. </p><p>“Earlier,” he says, then sighs, “I…I’m sorry I didn’t last long.”</p><p>You pull away from him, incredulous. “Huh?”</p><p>He tilts his head, gazing up at you. “I told you it would be fast,” he admits, lowly, and somehow, this is the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen him. “I—you’re the first one to ever do that,” he says.</p><p>“I know,” you counter, somehow breathless all over again. “I know—which is why I was so afraid about it, I know I’m the first one to touch you—” you break off, trying to put the magnitude of it into your words, “Like that. I wanted it to be special for you, make it mean something.”</p><p>He’s still staring at you, under the visor. You can tell. “It meant something,” he says, finally, after what feels like full minutes of silence. “It meant—everything.”</p><p>You look at him, the desperate need to stroke his face, to kiss him, pulsing inside your chest. That big pull of the universe is spinning entire nebulas inside you right now, and you want to feel his skin against yours. But you can’t ask him to remove his helmet. You don’t know the Creed, other than the bits and pieces he’s fed to you and what you’ve stitched together, but you know that he can’t take his helmet off where someone else can see him, and you don’t have the blindfold. You’re trying to work up the nerve to ask him if you can tie the shirt you’re wearing over your face so that he can take his helmet off when he interrupts you. </p><p>“Can you promise me something?” </p><p>You look up at him, earnest. Your eyelashes flutter with the truth of it. “Yes.”</p><p>“Keep your eyes closed,” he warns, and before you can do anything, “don’t look.”</p><p>Your eyes squeeze shut immediately, both of your hands covering your sockets. You hold them until you see stars. “I promise,” you say, quickly, keeping your fingers pressed there, and then harder still when you hear the hiss of his helmet disengaging. You’re so still. You don’t dare move until he touches your face with his bare hands, and you gasp at the recognition of it. </p><p>“You can,” he starts, breathes, and then starts again, “take your hands away if you promise not to open your eyes.”</p><p>You don’t entirely trust yourself and your impulse control, but you trust him, and you want him to trust you. You nod, slowly, and you’re pulled back against his chest, and you realize he’s taken his shirt off, too. He’s warm and he smells like soap and cinnamon and everything good in the world. You keep your eyes closed, keep your promise, feeling his hand ghost up your jawline, tracing patterns in places only he’s been allowed to touch. </p><p>When he kisses you, hesitantly, gently, it’s like the two of you have been thrown from this galaxy to one far, far away, where planets spin backwards, where darkness doesn’t exist, where the two of you are colliding stars.<br/>
 </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH!!! it's meant so much to me to write this for you &amp; get to portray a version of Din who's less experienced sexually &amp; really focus on his trust &amp; journey with our narrator (who will get a more permanent name very soon hehe;)) </p><p> i'll be hanging around here &amp; tumblr to answer any questions or comments! &lt;3 CHAPTER 8 WILL BE UP NEXT SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 6TH @ 7:30 PM!!! </p><p>xoxo, amelie</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Promises</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Do you,” he starts, and it’s barely a whisper, “want to know my name?” </p><p>Your breath hitches in your throat. “Am I…allowed to know your name?” </p><p>He’s quiet, for a long time. You want to ask again, but you know this is something you can’t push out of him. You just stroke his face in the darkness, gentle, enduring, constant.  </p><p>“It’s a loophole,” he admits, lowly. “You can’t ask for it. I’m not supposed to…just give it…but there isn’t a hard and fast rule. In the Creed.”  </p><p>You nod against him, and you’re sure some of your hair tangles with his in the darkness of the hull. “Okay.”  </p><p>“You can’t use it,” he whispers. “Around me is fine. And the kid, too. But you can’t ever say it in front of anyone else.” </p><p>You nod again. “I promise,” you say, so gently, so quietly, almost like it’s just stardust.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I AM SOOOOO SORRY THIS IS UP SO LATE!! i moved into my last semester of college today and ao3 didn't save my draft and i was just able to get back to my computer!!! i hope y'all enjoy this anyways! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You wake up before he does. It’s the first time you can remember where you’ve been actively aware that he’s fully sleeping next to you, and your eyes flutter open to a sea of warm, tan skin. Immediately, you squeeze them shut again, heart hammering before you butterfly your hands around and realize all you’re seeing is his collarbone and some of his neck, slightly peppered with freckles and dark hair, but other than that, completely unrecognizable. As quietly as you can, you feel around to your side for a piece of fabric, and you don’t know what you tie over your betraying gaze, but when you check to make sure it’s opaque, all you see is blackness. </p><p>The hull of the Crest is still dark, and you’re still in space, although you have a sinking suspicion that you’ll soon be at your destination, or at least have to stop for refueling, and even though that’s what you signed on for, planet-hopping and baby-watching, it sours in your belly every time you remember the more time elapses, the closer Mando will be to having to leave you. </p><p>You hear babbling, and, forgetting you’ve temporarily disabled your sense of sight, you whip your head around, and your loose hair drags across the Mandalorian’s face, and he inhales sharply and rockets up next to you. Stupidly, you clap your hands over your already blindfolded eyes, and then giggle as you feel the nudging of the little baby climbing on top of you. </p><p>“I—” Mando starts, and you wave your hand at him, pointing incessantly at what you think is your face. “Oh.”</p><p>“I didn’t see anything,” you promise, and then you hear the clanging of his armor, the hiss of the helmet locking back into place, but you sit, waiting for his explicit signal that he’s covered and you can undo your blindfold. His hands, still bare, slip it off you, but by the time you’ve decided you can open your eyes, he’s put his gloves back on. </p><p>You smile up at him, dazed. “Good morning,” you whisper, pulling the baby up to your chest. He’s babbling, still, and you heave both of you off the floor and find some food left over from your last sojourn on Dantooine to give to him. Mando looks at you, and even under the helmet, you know it’s fondly, and then something beeps on the dashboard.</p><p>You both look over at it, and he sighs and strides over, flipping switches and trying to figure out where the beeping is coming from. It’s kind of alarming, the sound. The Crest likes to yell at you both, but this is loud, and angry, and the baby’s giant ears are cocked backward, and you bounce him on your hip as Mando swears and figures out the source of it.</p><p>“Dank ferrik,” he seethes, and you furrow your eyebrows. “We’re almost out of fuel. We need to emergency stop here.” He gestures at the planet that’s coming into view. </p><p>“Where are we?” you ask. You don’t recognize the hue of it at all, and gauging from how long you’ve been in the air, you know you’re making headway to wherever the next bounty is. </p><p>“I—” Mando hits the dashboard that’s beeping again, and suddenly the hull is silent except the noise coming from the three of you. “Florrum.” </p><p>You squint. You’d vaguely heard the name growing up, but you’ve never been remotely near this sector of the Outer Rim before. Something small and exciting flips your belly over when you realize that you’re still parsecs away from the Mid Rim, where the bounty from the puck you picked was located. As the Crest breaks the planet’s atmosphere, you groan internally at the landscape. Another desert. </p><p>“Is there even fuel here?” you ask, seeing how barren it is. You’re starting to get a little nervous, because the Razor Crest is beeping <i>again</i>, and Mando seems to get even more aggravated at the source, and the baby coos angrily in your arms. You look between him and Mando, and then pat the little peach fuzz on the baby’s head. He looks up at you with those giant eyes, and you realize what he wants. “Mando?” Your voice is quiet. “I think he needs more food.” </p><p>He looks back at you, and even though his cloak whips around, he seems to soften when he sees how big the baby’s eyes are. He sighs. “There’s fuel. I know where to stop. But food…” he trails off, looking between both you and the baby, visor settling on your face. “We might need to go elsewhere to find that.” </p><p>You nod, slowly, and the baby’s noises sound frustrated. Hungry. “The fuel will be fast?” you ask, quietly, and Mando steps toward you, nodding. </p><p>“Yes.” </p><p>Your eyes flick out at the desert around you, then back to him. He takes the baby out of your arms, wordlessly, and then pulls you in to the both of them. </p><p>“I’ll be quick,” he promises, lingering a gloved hand on your cheek. “Wear this.” He drops the commlink into your outstretched hand, and you put it on. You watch him as he descends the ladder and close your eyes against the hiss of the gangplank being disengaged. You miss him already, the giant black hole of loss in your chest an open, sucking wound. This is ridiculous, you try to reason with yourself, pulling the baby up into your arms and swinging him around the cockpit on your hip. </p><p>“Hi, sweetness,” you croon to his cries, and he looks up at you, little fingers grabbing at your necklace. You lean down, just a little, so he can thumb the Rebel insignia, and you press your forehead against his. “I know you’re hungry,” you say, quietly, and he starts crying again. “No, bug!” you run over to the ladder. Trying your best to not drop him or fall on your ass, you climb down to where you’ve been storing the food. There’s nothing except a leftover ration, and it’s basically only crumbs, but you sigh against your own grumbling stomach and pour the remainder into his mouth. </p><p>Immediately after, like literally a second later, his big eyes close and you have to try to climb up the ladder with him in your arms to return him to his little floating egg. When you’re done, you sit on the pilot’s seat, humming to yourself and imagining Mando was back here with you. </p><p>“Hey.” </p><p>You stare at the commlink. Did he read your <i>mind</i>?</p><p>“Hi,” you breathe into it, folding your legs under you. “Did you find us fuel?”</p><p>“Only a little,” he says, and then groans. “Shit.”</p><p>The word feels foreign under his tongue, especially since you know how hard he tries to keep anything even remotely negative away from the baby, and you tilt your head back against the rest. </p><p>“What?” </p><p>“It’s just hard to carry.”</p><p>You gaze out the front of the Crest, as if you could see him walking across the barren landscape. “What’s hard to carry?”</p><p>He sighs. “The fuel.” </p><p>You do a spin in the chair, pushing one leg off the haphazard dashboard. “You lugged three carbonite blocks back across Nevarro’s molten surface, by yourself, but carrying a few fuel cans is hard?”</p><p>“Sand,” he offers, and you squint. </p><p>“Elaborate.”</p><p>“I don’t like it,” he says, and he sounds irritated. You giggle at the admission, and he says, “I’m serious. I hate the desert.”</p><p>“Maybe that’s why all your bounties seem to be on desert planets,” you say. “Tatooine, Jakku, now we’re stopping for fuel on Florrum…”</p><p>“Don’t get smart with me,” he interrupts, and you freeze, and then he chuckles. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to hearing his laughter. It delights you, every single time. “Oh.”</p><p>The timbre of his voice is different, and even through the modulator, through the commlink, you know something’s wrong. “What?” you say, lowly, urgently. </p><p>“I have company,” he says, and then you hear other voices and blaster fire, and your heart sinks. You immediately flip all the right switches, pull the pilot’s seat forward, and strap in. </p><p>“Where are you?” You’re starting to panic. There’s a <i>lot</i> of shooting, and the last time you had to pick him up, you had to patch all his wounds and lay near his head to make sure he was breathing. “Mando. Please—” </p><p>“I have it handled,” he says, and then there’s more shouting, more shooting, and if it weren’t for the sleeping baby just a few feet away, you would have started screaming. </p><p>“I believe you,” you lie, lifting the Crest off the ground. For the first time, it handles expertly under your grip. You could kiss it for its cooperation. “But, you know, just in case, where are you?”</p><p>“Almost back,” he says, and you crane your neck to see out one of the windows, and finally, the entire situation comes into focus. Mando has apparently stolen a speeder bike, with three cans of fuel attached to it, and following closely behind him, an entire platoon of sand pirates is chasing him down. “Open the gangplank.”</p><p>You stare. He’s calling your name, and you’re frozen, and then you hear him repeat himself again, and you slam your fist into the button. You’re standing there, watching the pirates gain on him, with absolutely zero idea how to get him safely in here without any of them climbing aboard, and then, with no ceremony, Mando yanks the speeder bike, the fuel, and his entire hulking body up and to the right, and as he disappears from your view, you hear him land on the gangplank. </p><p>“Move!” he yells up to you, and you snap into action, navigating the Crest up and out. You don’t even bother setting in a location. You just pull up, and the ship complies.  </p><p>Once you’ve successfully navigated off the planet’s surface, and you feel confident that the pirates can’t follow you outside of the atmosphere, you scramble down the ladder. You look around the floor of the Crest, fearfully, expecting Mando to be on the ground somewhere, still recovering. </p><p>“Over here,” comes his deep, modulated voice. You jump as you track him in the corner, completely camouflaged in the ship’s dark interior. Your heart is still pounding, and you hunch over a little before you make your way over to him. He’s leaning up against the wall, arms crossed on his big, hulking chest, and your heart sparks in your chest. </p><p>“You scared me,” you warn him, waggling your pointer finger in his face, “that was quite the move, mister.” </p><p>He just stares at you for a second, and you look up at him, eyes squinted and alive. Before you can do anything, his hands whip up and grab you, and then you’re rocketed in against the metal that makes up the entirety of his body. </p><p>“I had it handled,” he murmurs, tucking your hair behind your ear. You bite down on your lip as you look up at him, delighting in the fact that he has his hands all over you, his big grip entirely occupied by your face, your hair, your body. </p><p>“I know.”</p><p>He strokes a gloved thumb over your face. “Your handling of the ship this time was perfect,” he says, and you hum against the affirmation, while he adds, “you sweet thing.” </p><p>You grin. “I was a fighter pilot,” you remind him, your arms snaking up and around his neck, the bareness of your exposed skin cool against the beskar. “In the Alliance. Remember?”</p><p>He’s staring down you again. You don’t have to see his eyes—whatever color they are—to know that his gaze is on you. It settles excitedly against your stomach lining, the anticipation of his follow-up and the anxiety of reminding him of your life before him equally as strong. </p><p>“How long were you,” he asks, grip lightly coming to rest against the side of your neck. The memory of his bare fingers against the pressure points there hours ago makes you shiver, “in the Alliance?”</p><p>Now it’s your turn to pause. You’re swaying, slightly, against his grip. “My whole life,” you admit, “until the defeat of the Empire.” </p><p>He traces his finger down the length of your throat, and you shiver. His hand finds the tiny silver insignia you wear around your neck, roaming the surface of it with his thumb. “Why’d you leave?”</p><p>You look up at him. “When my parents died,” you start, and that familiar swell of loss rises inside you, “it was…before.” He’s staring at you, and you realize he has no idea what you’re talking about. “It was years before the Alliance blew up the first Death Star. I was still a kid. A teenager, but still sheltered, young. I believed in the cause, wholeheartedly, completely. I was raised on Yavin, so…I was always in the Alliance.” You pause, again, and he’s still toying with your necklace, so you continue. “I didn’t give up on it. After they died. I still went on missions, I still fought and flew my ship for them, but after the defeat of the first Death Star…something changed.”</p><p>He’s still looking down at you, silent.</p><p>You swallow. “I felt suffocated. Trapped. I knew that we had just defeated evil, but I also knew it wasn’t gone. It was the limbo of it all, it ate away at me. I…I left because it was the first choice I had that was just…mine.”</p><p>“And that was important?” he asks, stroking your cheek again, “to you?”</p><p>You nod. “Yes. I loved my parents. I loved the Alliance. I loved being a pilot, I loved being able to live out there in the stars. But fighting back was all I’d ever known.” </p><p>“And now?” He tucks loose hair behind your ear, and you’re struck again with how much his he loves playing with it, running his fingers through it, and you smile softly at him, raising an eyebrow at his question. </p><p>“Now,” you say, and he nods his head at you. “Well…I had a lot of close calls.” Your hand finds your belly, your scar, and the reminder that all three Calican brothers were dead now, at the hands of the two of you, and you swallow back that panicked feeling they’d marked you with for the first time, able to satiate it on the finality of it all. “I learned that evil didn’t just lurk in the shadows of the Empire.” You look up at him, intentional. “And I learned that good doesn’t just live in the Alliance.” </p><p>The silence is palpable. You look up at him, equal parts earnest and nervous, hoping he’ll catch on that you’re talking about him, him and this life you’ve built together, with the two of you and the baby, living in the stars, adventuring forever—</p><p>He turns, so fast you don’t know it’s happening, and suddenly, he’s taken over your previous  position, and you’re locked in up against the wall, and you’re breathing so heavy, your chest is heaving, and his grip is <i>still</i> so gentle against your face. You exhale, shakily, just staring up at him in awe, in anticipation. “Close your eyes.” </p><p>You do. Immediately. You even try to put your hands over them again, to show him you’re serious, really, truly serious, but he blocks them midair, catching both of your wrists so quick. “Don’t,” he says, and your eyes squeeze shut tighter, but you nod, jerkily. “Just don’t open your eyes.”</p><p>“I promise,” you say eagerly, and then you hear your favorite sound in the entire world, the hiss of his helmet disengaging from the rest of the armor. You gasp as you feel him shift against you as he takes it off, one-handed. You know this much because his other one hasn’t moved off both of your wrists, and you swallow. </p><p>His hands move away from your wrists, and you let your arms clatter on either side of you, lazily and unceremoniously. Then he’s touching your face, again, gently, <i>he’s so gentle with it</i>, and you realize that he’s taken his gloves off, too. </p><p>“Are you going to touch me?” you squeak out, and it’s too loud in the silence, much too loud, but then you feel one hand slip away from your face and start roaming down your body. it’s agonizingly slow, but then he reaches your collarbone and traces, just his fingertip, a line straight down to your nipple. </p><p>“Does that answer your question?” His voice is rough, but so warm, and you can feel the heat of it in your ear. You squirm. </p><p>“Yes,” you breathe, “I won’t talk again, as long as you keep—” </p><p>His mouth is on your neck. His hand has moved, pinching your hard nipple between his fingers, and you mewl happily against him, his touch, his warmth, as his tongue licks circles up and down the skin of your neck. You feel like you’re about to pass out. He’s so warm, so close to you. It’s dizzying. You think you’d spiral out, or supernova, if your body had its choice. </p><p>“Stay upward,” he murmurs in your ear, tongue reaching out and touching your ear. You gasp, clawing at his shoulder. You realize you can feel his hair up against yours. It’s soft, and somehow longer than you were expecting, and you squeeze your eyes shut tighter to try to prove to him that you’re serious about not looking. “You promise?”</p><p>You nod. Fervently. Maker, you feel feverish. You had no idea how much this would burn you alive when you first met him. Even when you touched yourself in his bed, even when he kissed you for the first time, even the first two times he’d made you cum—this was infernally more intense. “I—promise,” you gasp, finally. </p><p>He’s gone. As quickly as he was against your skin, he’s evaporated, and every nerve of your body is on fire. You start to cry out for him, your eyes still shut, when you feel his hands return like a ship jumping out of warp, significantly lower on your body than they were a second ago. He’s fumbling with your pants, with the belt and then the fabric themselves, and when they’re undone, he rips them off your body. </p><p>“Oh,” you say, more air than anything else, and then you can feel the warmth of his hands return, gripping your right inner thigh. “Oh—” </p><p>“Stay upward,” he repeats, and you can feel the hot air of his mouth in between your thighs, and you suddenly know what he’s doing. Everything in you clenches. You’re so wet, already, and you want to warn him that you’re not sure if you’ve shaved, if you’ll taste okay—</p><p>His tongue shakily slides up between your lips. You scream. It’s a gasp, but a really fucking loud one, and your eyes are screwed up so tight that you’re seeing stars. He’s hesitant with it, gentle and stumbling, and somehow that makes it even better. Knowing this is the first time he’s done this, knowing that it’s the first time for both of you—it’s almost as good as getting eaten out itself. </p><p>“Please,” you whimper, and you’re not even sure what you’re asking for, but he obliges. His grip tightens on your thigh, and his other one pulls the left leg out a little bit more, and then his entire mouth is on you again. He’s not fumbling anymore. He’s intentional with the way that his tongue licks patterns in between your pussy, and it clenches around his touch. He keeps slipping it in and out of you and trying to punch out your clit, and the constant switching is enough to push you up against the edge, and when he anchors his hands on your hips to pull you down onto his mouth again, it pushes you over it. </p><p>“I’m—” you choke out, and you don’t even have the energy to warn him before you cum, hot and slick against his mouth. You slump against the wall, wiping off your slick forehead, pushing hair up and away from your face, eyes still shut. </p><p>He’s <i>still fucking going.</i></p><p>“Mando,” you whisper, breathlessly, and then, after a minute, more fortified, “<i>Mando</i>.”</p><p>He barely even removes his mouth to grit out a short “<i>What</i>?” </p><p>“I came,” you admit, guiltily, and he moves one hand to press his bare thumb against your clit again, licking into you deeper and deeper, and you gasp. </p><p>His voice is low. Dangerous. “<i>So</i>?” </p><p>That alone makes you cum again. You think you’re screaming. You’re not sure. You cannot hear anything through the buzzing in your ears, the shockwaves of him rolling off you like pure electricity. You’re clenching your hand around something before you come to one of your senses that isn’t pure desire. Hair. You’re grabbing his hair. </p><p>You let it go, immediately, but his tongue is still licking every spot of you bare, and you stutter out a halfhearted apology before he grabs your hand and forces it back down on his head. You stroke your fingers through it again, and you can hear the muffled sounds of him moaning against your pussy, and you suddenly don’t know where up is. You fall, just a little slip at first, but then you’re fully on the floor, like you just fainted, and somehow his limbs are entangled with yours except is his mouth is still between your legs, like a honing beacon. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” you cry out, immediately, “I know you told me to stay upward—” </p><p>“You said it yourself,” he says, still muffled, “maybe the floor is better.” </p><p>You hum again as he readjusts, yanking your torso up. Your eyes are closed, and with the buffer of that and the hull of the Razor Crest always being so fucking dark, you aren’t thinking about anything but him. Your mind’s fixated on yourself in the past, how you look, the way that your skin hangs off your body, your standard insecurities, but you can’t think of anything right now. And yeah, it’s the dark, and it’s the way that he’s occupying every single last neuron in your head, but it’s also the way he acts around you. Hungry. Like you satiate something in him he’s never had before. Which is being exemplified right now, more than ever, because he literally cannot take his mouth away from you. </p><p>“Mando,” you whisper, urgently, “you don’t have to—keep going—if you’re tired, it’s already been twice—” </p><p>“Sweet girl,” he says, and the world stops spinning, “Are you superstitious?” </p><p>You lift your head up in confusion. Your eyes are still shut, but you can feel your eyelids fluttering rebelliously, so you let your head clank back down against the Crest’s floor. “Huh?”</p><p>He’s moved. He’s on top of you now, and <i>shit</i>, you can feel him hard through his pants on your bare upper thigh. You start breathing heavily, wanting him to just pull it out and put it inside you, but then his lips are on yours and <i>holy Maker, he tastes like you</i>, and then he whispers, “It’s not only bad things that comes in threes,” and then his mouth is in between your legs again. </p><p>You definitely pass out this time. There’s ten seconds of your life, completely evaporated in the air around you. Vanished. When you come to, he’s still going, still licking, and you can feel your legs trembling. “Stop,” you say, and you don’t really mean it, you’re just totally in sensory overload, and then he does. His mouth leave you so fast you can feel the breeze on your bare skin. </p><p>“What’s wrong?”</p><p>“<i>Nothing</i>,” you emphasize, and then sigh. “I’m just—this—you’re so good, I…I think I just passed out.” </p><p>You hear him sigh, and then he’s on the floor next to you, rolling you over in one fluid motion so you’re pressed up against him. The chill of your bare skin pressing up against the beskar is almost as overwhelming as your third orgasm and you moan, lightly. One of his hands is on the back of your head, supporting you against the floor. </p><p>“Thank you,” you gasp out finally, “I will be thinking about this for the rest of my life—” </p><p>“Until the next time,” he interrupts, and your tummy clenches. </p><p>“Okay, yeah,” you slur, suddenly sleepy, “until next time, yeah.”</p><p>The two of you lay in complete darkness for what feels like hours, or maybe it’s just really slow seconds, and then his hand moves in your hair and you yank yourself out of your blissful reverie. </p><p>“Thank you,” you repeat, feeling around in the dark, and then your hand gently collides with his face, rough and slightly unshaven. You touch his skin, hesitantly, and his sharp intake of breath makes you retract your fingers. </p><p>“No,” he says, quietly, “you can touch me.”</p><p>You do, still tentative until he pushes his cheek flush against your palm, and you glide your thumb slowly over what you think is his cheekbone, but it’s too dark to tell. You push yourself in closer to him. “And thank you for trusting me.” You’re not just talking about trusting you enough to keep your eyes closed while he went down on you for what felt like hours, but trusting you enough to keep you close, to be the first person to touch his face since he was a child. You have no idea how old he is, you remember, startled, or anything really, what he looks like, if he has brown eyes, if he has a scar somewhere like yours, and your mind runs for miles before you feel his hot breath against your skin. </p><p>“Do you,” he starts, and it’s barely a whisper, “want to know my name?”</p><p>Your breath hitches in your throat. “Am I…allowed to know your name?”</p><p>He’s quiet, for a long time. You want to ask again, but you know this is something you can’t push out of him. You just stroke his face in the darkness, gentle, enduring, constant. </p><p>“It’s a loophole,” he admits, lowly. “You can’t ask for it. I’m not supposed to…just give it…but there isn’t a hard and fast rule. In the Creed.” </p><p>You nod against him, and you’re sure some of your hair tangles with his in the darkness of the hull. “Okay.” </p><p>“You can’t use it,” he whispers. “Around me is fine. And the kid, too. But you can’t ever say it in front of anyone else.” </p><p>You nod again. “I promise,” you say, so gently, so quietly, almost like it’s just stardust. You hope he knows that you won’t, that you would never. And secretly, somewhere, you know he hopes that you know the significance of this, that this means something deeper. Something like family. Something like neither of you have had in years. </p><p>“It’s Din,” he says, so quietly you have to strain to make sure you’re hearing him correctly. It fits him. It suits him in the same way he says yours fits you. It’s monosyllabic, it’s rich, it’s different. </p><p>“Okay,” you say, simply, stroking a finger over his face again. “Thank you. For telling me. But you wanna know something?”</p><p>He’s quiet. You can feel him rustle against you. “We do have one thing in common.” You lean in to kiss him, softly, just once, and then continue. “I don’t need your name to know you.”</p><p>You can feel him <i>smile</i> against your lips. Your heart soars. “And now that you have it?”</p><p>You stop for a second, trying to throw the weight of the entire galaxy behind your next words. “I trust you, Din,” you say, simply, “More every day.”</p><p>He’s about to say something, you know it, but then the baby starts crying. Bawling. Like he did earlier, and then his little egg comes down the ladder, and the light from above filters in so quickly it beats your eyes squeezing shut. You get a glimpse, just of his dark hair, his shoulder blade, and then you clap both hands over your eyes, feeling around blindly for your pants. Mando—Din—is so fast in redressing, and he taps your head three times as he climbs the ladder. You pull your pants on, quickly, clumsily, and follow him up. </p><p>By the time you reach the top, he’s already at the helm, with the baby in his covered arms. He turns around, just slightly, as you float into view, and sling yourself down, happily, in the copilot’s chair. You beam at him. </p><p>“Are you hungry?” he asks, and at the word, the baby starts crying and clapping his hands together simultaneously, and you giggle at the confusion of it all, at being let in on his newfound secret, at all of it. </p><p>“Starving,” you admit, and tilt your head up at him. “How about you?”</p><p>He presses some button on the dashboard, and the Crest starts making its descent. You don’t know where you are in the universe. You don’t care. It doesn’t matter. </p><p>“Oh, no,” Din says finally, handing you the baby as he sits down in his own chair, and you can hear the wicked smile in his voice, “I already ate.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>CHAPTER 9 COMING SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 13TH, 7:30 PM EST!!! a very romantic chapter just in time for vday ;)</p><p>LOVE Y'ALL can't wait to hair what you think of this one!!!</p><p>xoxo, amelie</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. It Means Forever</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Have you ever—?” you start, stopping short. That comment the Twi’lek made parsecs away about him taking off his helmet floats up, uneasy and bitter. You’ve pieced together enough of the Mandalorian Creed from what he’s told you and from where you’ve picked up in other places that he’s not allowed to ever remove his helmet in front of another living thing, and you know you’re the only one who’s come the closest. You know he’s notched you perfectly through these laced loopholes, because he trusts you. He knows you. You won’t run, and you won’t betray any of it. </p><p>“Just you,” he says, and it feels like an oath. He pauses, his hands finding your face again, and his voice is barely there at all, “Darasuum.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>HAPPY ALMOST VALENTINE'S DAY!!! i know this chapter isn't super steamy, but the romance of it all made me tear up while i was writing it...i hope y'all enjoy, even though this one is a bit shorter than usual, and just know that chapter 10 is going to be a DOOZY! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The baby is absolutely torrential in his crying. Full thunderstorms full of tears. You’d think you were on Kamino with the way that his giant bug eyes are leaking water. Your clothes are wet, again, except this time, it’s because of how hard the kid is crying and not because of the increasingly stressed Mandalorian a foot in front of you.</p><p>You don’t want to say anything. You don’t want to frustrate him even further, because the kid’s doing an excellent job of it himself. You adore the little guy more than anything else in the galaxy—except, well, maybe his father—but the way and the rate he’s crying might just drown the Razor Crest. </p><p>“Hey,” you say, softly, suddenly nervous to use his real name. “I think we should just emergency stop on the next planet.”</p><p>Din ignores you. You think. Except, maybe, it’s just that the baby’s cries are so loud that they completely eclipsed him. You’re in warp, which you don’t remember going into, and you can feel the stress radiating off the beskar. You’ve seen him in a lot of moods, but the last time you saw him this stressed, you went on a reckless little jaunt of your own and almost got yourself and the baby killed. </p><p>“I’m trying to find the safest place,” he finally admits. “I didn’t expect Florrum to get as dicey as it did.” </p><p>Now it’s your turn to be quiet. Of course he is, for you or for the baby, it doesn’t matter. Your heart does its familiar backflip, swelling in your chest. The baby’s still crying. </p><p>“It’s okay, sweetness,” you say, softly, trying to soothe him with your quietest voice. “Your daddy’s just trying to find you the best place to get something to eat, we’ll be there soon.” </p><p>The visor on Din’s helmet is suddenly trained on you. “You’re good with him.”</p><p>You tip your face back to look at him, a smile already working its way across your lips. “I learned from the best.” </p><p>He’s still quiet, but the stress that permeated the air just seconds ago has suddenly evaporated. His gaze is on you, you know it, even through the helmet, and you just stroke the baby’s head, grinning up at his dad. The ship is quiet, peaceful, the only noise the steady navigation on the Crest’s dashboard and the baby’s cries. Even those have subsided, somehow, and he looks up from where he’s been crying on your chest to survey the great hurtling blueness of the ship in hyperspace. It’s like he can sense Mando’s grip on the warp handle before he even does it, because suddenly the baby is cooing instead of crying, and the Razor Crest whooshes out of hyperspace in front of what Mando has deemed to be the safest planet. </p><p>Your heart bottoms out. You try to suppress your gasp, but it comes out anyway, in the soft darkness in the helm of the Crest. Din looks back at you, and all of your insides are flipping and shaking like a mess of electrical wires. You make eye contact with him, at least the closest thing you can, through the visor, and he holds onto it, locking onto you like a tractor beam. </p><p>You know he’s waiting for you to speak, to deny him landing here, but you can’t. You don’t want to. And you really have no reason to, really, because you’d never been here before and you’d only heard of its safety and kindness in stories, but seeing your mother’s birthplace cresting over the horizon as the ship enters the atmosphere leaves you breathless. </p><p>“Is this okay?” Din asks, quietly, moving the ship as slowly as he can, even with the baby getting agitated, tears threatening to spark at the back of his eyes again. You hold onto him, gently, trying to stabilize that rush of emotions. “Hey.” He says your name, lowly, and that breaks you out of it. </p><p>“Yes,” you promise. Your voice isn’t exactly steady. “Naboo is safe. Very safe, in fact. I just—” you inhale shakily as the Razor Crest pulls through the sunny sky, waterfalls and fields and forests spilling out, lush and green, around you. “My mother,” you manage, thumb absentmindedly finding your necklace. “She was born here.”</p><p>Din’s still looking at you. You’re silent as he pulls the Crest towards a slightly more populated place than the rolling fields the ship entered the atmosphere in, holding onto the increasingly excited baby. </p><p>The Crest is parked at an old landing bay, but you can see the bustle of a small town on the horizon, and you sigh out, relieved with how close Din will be once he leaves the ship. He’s turning in the pilot’s chair, and you reluctantly force your eyes away from the landscape in front of you to where he’s staring it you. You inhale, sharply, knowing he’s going to want to ask something more, but you truly have no reason for the wave of emotion that’s threatening at the corners of your eyes, at the back of your throat, and when he stands in front of you, your breath hitches again. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” you manage, so quiet it’s barely even there at all, “I don’t know why that hit me so hard—I’m fine. Naboo is okay. This is…safe.”</p><p>“It is,” Din says. “That’s why I picked it. It’s endearing, his quiet, his incredible ability to be honest and upfront and yet so soothing with the words that are filtering out of the modulator. “Are you okay?”</p><p>You nod, completely forgetting that you’d already assured him that you were, and a gloved hand finds your cheek. You smile, only slightly watery, overwhelmed with the softness of him, of this planet. “Yes,” you say, finally. “Just emotional.”</p><p>He’s quiet again, and you hand him the baby for a second so you can pull the commlink off the dashboard, trying to show him it was okay for him to go into town and get the food, but then he tilts his helmet at you. He’s confused. You know he is, but you don’t know why. </p><p>“What?”</p><p>He slowly attaches the commlink to your wrist, bending down so that his helmet is almost at eye level with you. “Do you want to…come with me?”</p><p>You blink, startled. That’s never been an option before. “The last time I went outside the ship,” you remind him, wincing at the memory of it, “I almost got killed. I almost got the baby killed—” </p><p>“You didn’t,” he interrupts. “You’re both here now, and nothing is going to happen to you out there.” He moves his hand gently across your face, tangling it in your loose hair. “Besides, I’ll be with you, both of you, the whole time.” </p><p>“You’re sure?” you ask, breath bated. You’re still nervous, still pulsing with the knowledge that you’d be roaming a place where your mother used to live, a place that was a living memory to her after so much of her had been eroded away, but he nods, and your mind clears. </p><p>You stand, pulling the baby back into your arms. You look around for your blaster, trying to strap it to your leg, and Din pulls it out from behind him, wordlessly. He hands you a large piece of fabric, and you blink at it, confused. </p><p>“Is that your cape?” </p><p>His helmet is tilted again. “My—what?”</p><p>You can feel your cheeks burning. “You wear it,” you say, embarrassed, “With the armor.”</p><p>Din’s staring at you. You know it. You can feel it. “My cloak,” he answers, finally, but his voice is warm through the modulator. “But yes.”</p><p>You look down at what you’re wearing. It’s almost the same thing you first entered the Razor Crest in, so maybe this is kismet. Your pants, tan and baggy around the thighs and shins, held up with your father’s old belt. You have a tank top on, your arms bare. “Is it cold out there?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Do I…need this?” you ask, lowly, a seeping anticipation flooding into your voice, wondering if the reason he’s holding it out to you is to cover up your slightly exposed chest, your bare arms. You never thought you’d like that—belonging to someone so strongly that you’d only wear what they wanted, regardless of your own feelings—but your body is betraying you. </p><p>“Yes,” he says, and you inhale sharply. “To—to put over your bag.” </p><p>“Huh?” you say, and then remember how you swaddled yourself in the same thing when you left with the baby back on Dantooine. Now you’re definitely embarrassed. Even in the dark of the Crest, you know you’re flushed, sweaty. “Oh.”</p><p>Din stares at you. “Did you think—?”</p><p>“<i>No</i>,” you say, forcefully, yanking the fabric around your torso, over your messy hair hiding the baby from plain sight. “Nope. Not one bit.”</p><p>He pulls you into him, quietly, quickly. “I don’t need you to cover anything up,” he whispers into your ear, and you sigh happily at the chills he’s sending down your spine, “you know you’re mine, and that’s enough.”</p><p>You’re on fire. You feel <i>incinerated</i>. You gasp as he pulls himself away from you, and your body sags after him like a magnet.</p><p>“Come on, silly girl,” he says, and you follow him down the ladder, hands shaking slightly, watching his armored body as he disengages the gangplank, holds out his hand, and pulls you after him. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>People stare. Mostly, they stare at him—the hulking, silent Mandalorian in a suit of full body beskar armor. He’s intimidating. You know that, that to the outside eye, the outside anything—a Mandalorian means combat, which usually means violence. And while you’ve bore witness to that violence firsthand, you want to scream at them for immediately assuming. For being afraid.</p><p>But they’re staring at <i>you</i>, too. A lot, actually. You gaze around, and nearly every single person in this village is gawking at the both of you. You’re not used to this much attention—not this up close, at least, you got a lot of unwanted attention out in space when you were still a pilot for the Rebel Alliance when you were a teenager—but this is different. People look at you like they’re afraid of you, too, for simply being in such proximity as a Mandalorian. Maybe they’re impressed. Maybe they’re envious. Maybe they’re just shocked that you’re both here, in such a peaceful place. </p><p>“Hey,” Din says, lowly, and you look at him. “What would you…what food works?”</p><p>You stare up at him. “What food…works?”</p><p>“What do you like?” he asks, and you observe your surroundings. He’s never asked you that question before, you realize, he’s just picked up things and you’ve eaten them when you’ve gotten hungry. You’re in front of a small market, one with all the fruits and vegetables laid out in front of you. A few strides ahead is a stall of meat, and you can feel the baby’s hands reaching at your back. You’d bet every credit you have—which isn’t a lot, but it’s the thought that counts—that he’s salivating. </p><p>You look down, pick out an array of fruits and vegetables, and juggle them in your arms. “These.”</p><p>Mando looks at you. “You sure?”</p><p>You nod. “Yes.” </p><p>“No meat?”</p><p>The vendor is staring. You wrinkle your nose. “I’m not—I don’t really like meat.” </p><p>He strides over, grabs a few rations for him and the kid, and then returns to where you’ve dumped your offering on the table, digging around in the bowels of your pockets for your credits. Before you can pull up the scraps you do have, he lays a pile of them on the table. “You seem to like mine just fine,” he whispers, and you choke on the gorgeous Naboo air, looking around wildly to make sure that no one else caught his comment. You know your eyes are wild. You know your mouth is probably stuck open, shell-shocked and betraying the secret of him whispering it in your ear. Before you can pick your jaw off of the grassy ground, though, he pulls you behind him again. The vendor looks thankful for how much Din’s just bought off of him, and you manage a soft smile at his kind face as you’re being pulled out of his orbit. </p><p>“You gonna tell me dirty things like that in public now?” you whisper the second you’re out of earshot of the staring locals, and you don’t quite hear a laugh through the modulator, but you can sense that it’s bubbling under his helmet. </p><p>“Yes,” he says, easily, and then yanks gently on your arm and spins you out in front of him. Your head almost bonks up against the visor, but he’s so graceful with it that he anchors your body weight on your feet as you’re leaning. “Will that be an issue?”</p><p>You gawk. It’s so sunny out here, so temperate. It’s such a stark contrast from the dark, cool interior of the Crest that you’ve grown accustomed to, and it feels like a tiny shard of home on Yavin is piercing you where you stand. “Never,” you finally answer, but you know your voice is faraway. </p><p>“What’s wrong?” Din asks, and all the roughness has filtered out of his voice. Even though the modulator, you know it well enough by now to hear the slight change in tone. </p><p>“Nothing’s wrong,” you reassure him, squeezing the hand he still has in his grip. “It’s just…I wasn’t expecting this to feel so much like…Yavin.” </p><p>“How long has it been?” he asks. The three of you are standing in the middle of the road, and while you’re out of earshot and spying distance from anyone in the market, but something about the way the sun is washing you nostalgic is still making you feel watched. “Since you were home?”</p><p>“A long time,” you manage. You’ve stopped keeping track. “I don’t—remember, at this point, really. Years.” </p><p>He starts moving, slowly, and you follow him, magnetic, and you realize he’s not walking along the path anymore. He’s leading you off to the side, where willow trees are lining a small river, and you hum happily as the rays of sun kiss the top of your head where the cloak has slipped back a little, squinting to watch it reflect off the beskar, mesmerized. </p><p>You don’t remember what you were talking about until he’s pulled you off behind a few rocks and you’re sitting by the stream, and he unravels the cloak gently to let the baby play out unencumbered. </p><p>“Since your parents died?” he asks, and you blink, startled. “You haven’t been back home?”</p><p>For some reason, the association of Yavin being home feels disjointed, a chord struck wrong in your chest. You nod, though, slowly. “Once or twice. But then—when my parents died, it didn’t feel like home anymore. I still flew in the Alliance, but it just…it hurt too much. Soon after, the Alliance base moved to Hoth, and I just…left.”</p><p>He’s staring at you. You know it. “Have you ever been here?” he asks, finally, stretching his legs out so the baby can toddle over to him and climb over his legs. Din looks…comfortable. He never lets himself relax when he’s off the ship. From the few times you left with him to collect food and supplies before the debacle on Dantooine, you know he’s restless, uneasy, being around large groups of people, sticking out in the crowd. But even in places where he can blend in, even though he’s the intimidating one, you know it keys him up, being out in the open. Here, though, under the greenery and the big blue sky, water rushing underneath where you’re both sitting, he looks comfortable. Relaxed, even. Happy. </p><p>“No,” you say, honestly, and you pull your bag off your shoulders, laying the cloak down in the plush grass around you, and you let yourself unfold backwards, splayed into a star, the breeze rustling your loose hair. “I—I’ve wanted to. I got close, sometimes, in missions. My mother was born close to where we are. Raised not too far from here, I think.”</p><p>Your eyes are closed, but you can still feel Din’s gaze on you, even through the visor, even through your eyelids. The grand cosmic connection is pulling loose red threads from everywhere on your body, now. You’re completely smitten, you realize, heart galloping, and when you look up again, he’s laying right next to you. </p><p>You gasp. “You’re quiet,” you say, poking at an unarmored part on his chest. “You scared me.”</p><p>“I hunt people for a living,” he says, easily, and then he hooks one of your legs up on top of his, and you’re half on your stomach, half facing him. “I have to be quiet.”</p><p>“I don’t know,” you say, leaning in, a wicked smile of your own spreading across your face, “I think I’d like you loud.”</p><p>You try your best to roll back to face the sky, to let your own dirty quip stand, but his gloved hand finds its familiar place on your hip, and you sigh, content. </p><p>“Do you like it here?” he asks, and even though his voice is still low, all that fire that he touched you with seems to have evaporated. He’s genuinely curious, it dawns on you, that’s why he keeps asking. </p><p>You bite your lip and move a little closer to him, propping your head up on your elbow so it’s level with his helmet. “I do.” You watch the baby in your periphery, little arms waving wildly in the air, trying to catch a butterfly. “It’s peaceful. Really peaceful, not just the waves of it that came on Yavin.”</p><p>Din reaches out, tucking a piece of rogue hair behind your ear. “Do you miss Yavin?”</p><p>You stare up at him, something nervous roiling deep in your belly. You don’t know why he’s asking you this. You don’t know why your home is what’s catching his interest and keeping him hooked on a place that you both could explore forever. He doesn’t even really seem to be noticing the greenery surrounding you both and the baby, or the way the water’s rushing in the creek down below. But he’s still fixated on you, on your history. You swallow, trying your best to meet where you think his eyes are. </p><p>“Every day,” you answer, honestly, trying to not let your voice wobble. “But not…the place itself. I miss my life there. I miss running around with the other kids, and learning how to pilot different ships, and the innocence of it all.” You swallow. You can feel the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I miss my parents,” you manage, as quietly as you can, because you know if you speak in any real voice right now, they’re going to spill over. “I haven’t—my father wasn’t born on Naboo, but they met here, and…I haven’t been—close to them,” you interrupt yourself, “in a really, really long time.” </p><p>You close your eyes against the sun, against his visor, because you can feel yourself welling up, and even when you squeeze your eyes, a few traitorous tears slip down your cheeks. You feel a hand brush them away, and your breath catches in your throat when you realize that Din’s hands are bare. You’re out in the open air, and granted, you’re all tucked away behind a few rocks, and besides the little market you stopped at, no one’s around for miles, but still, it feels dangerous, him uncovering himself like that. </p><p>“Thank you,” you whisper, quietly, and you want to kiss him, but you don’t know how to ask, because removing his helmet anywhere but the darkness of the ship will always be a hard no. </p><p>“I miss my parents, too,” he admits, in a voice just as low as yours. “I only remember them in glimpses. Fragments.” </p><p>You stare at him. He’s never told you about what his life was like before the kid, only in vague sentences, nothing concrete. You just figured he didn’t talk about family, that he was a lone wolf. “Were they Mandalorians, too?” you ask, softly. </p><p>He shakes his head. It’s almost jerky, uncertain. “I wasn’t born on Mandalore.” </p><p>You bite down on your lip, confused. You want to ask a million questions, they’re bursting inside you, but you know that he responds better to silence once he’s figured out the exact words to say, so you keep yourself quiet.</p><p>“I was a foundling,” he says, after a minute. His visor looks up and away from you, landing on the baby. “Like him. My home was invaded when I was a kid. My parents chose to protect me.” You know what he means. The hidden message of his parents dying in protection of him strikes in your chest. “I was rescued. By Mandalorians.”</p><p>“How long have you been a Mandalorian?” You ask, still so quiet. Even the baby has settled down to nap behind his father’s feet. </p><p>“I don’t know,” he whispers. “Years, now. Most of my life.”</p><p>You reach forward, touching the side of his helmet, trying to convey to him that you’re trying to stroke his face, a metaphor that might be too close for comfort right now, but you’re burning and you need him to know that his trust in you swells up bigger than any other comfort you’ve ever felt. </p><p>“Have you ever—?” you start, stopping short. That comment the Twi’lek made parsecs away about him taking off his helmet floats up, uneasy and bitter. You’ve pieced together enough of the Mandalorian Creed from what he’s told you and from where you’ve picked up in other places that he’s not allowed to ever remove his helmet in front of another living thing, and you know you’re the only one who’s come the closest. You know he’s notched you perfectly through these laced loopholes, because he trusts you. He knows you. You won’t run, and you won’t betray any of it. </p><p>“Just you,” he says, and it feels like an oath. He pauses, his hands finding your face again, and his voice is barely there at all, “Darasuum.” </p><p>You blink. The word’s not from any language you’ve ever heard, and you’re about to ask what it means when the baby launches himself between the both of you, holding his tiny arms up to you with the fruits and vegetables you picked up back at the market. At the sight, your stomach rumbles. Fiercely. Loud enough to be heard over the rushing of the creek. You look back at Din, softly, trying to fill your face with intention, and he simply breaks apart one of the fruits with his gloves, holding it up for you to pick the seeds out of. An offering. A gesture so wildly him—intense, then endearing—that you reach out and gently place your laced fingers under his and lap some of the fruit up with your tongue, before you tug and let him relinquish his grip. You’re ravenous, you realize, you’ve barely eaten anything in over a day, and you gobble down half the gathering the baby keeps rolling through the tall grass in front of you before you realize Din hasn’t touched any of it.</p><p>“Hey,” you say, through a mouthful of something purple and divine, “Din,” you try, barely a whisper, and the baby’s big ears perk up at the sound of his dad’s name. </p><p>“What?”</p><p>You hold out the small bit of fruit you have left. “You need to eat, too. I’ll turn around—”</p><p>“I’m not hungry,” he interrupts, but he’s gentle with it. “Eat.”</p><p>“Nope,” you counter, still through a mouthful of food. “You have to try this. I’ll turn around and I won’t even open my eyes until you’re done. But you have to eat something, too.” </p><p>He doesn’t take the bait. You look at him, eyes squinted. “You don’t have to live off of freeze-dried rations and the baby’s leftovers,” you say, joking, but something in the way his stance changes when you say it makes you cut yourself off. “You deserve food,” you whisper, locking your gaze on where you think his eyes are. “Good food. Food that’s not just rations. Please, take the rest of this.”</p><p>Din just stares at you. Your arm’s getting tired, sticking the food in front of his helmet, but you don’t relent. Finally, with a sigh, all air, he takes the rest of it. You nod, turning around, wordless. You poke around with the flowers, trying to weave them into a little crown for the baby to wear, and trying to measure how small it has to be without gauging the exact circumference of his head with those big ears factored into the equation is proving to be much more difficult than you intended. You just fiddle with the violets instead, trying to pick ones of varying shades to carry back to the Crest with you. Maybe you’ll pop them in a little vase to liven up the dashboard, maybe you’ll dry them, preserve them. </p><p>Suddenly, a hand shoots out from over your shoulder, distracting you from the flowers. It’s gloved, and you squeeze your eyes shut before you’re pulled to your feet and hear Din’s modulated voice floating through to you. </p><p>“Thank you,” he says, into your ear, and you smile up at him, nodding. He takes your hand as the three of you walk back to the Crest, unencumbered, free. The gorgeous sun has slipped over the horizon by the time you make your way back, and the way the stars glitter here seem free, vibrant, in ways you weren’t used to on the planets you’d frequented over the years. The baby, fed and sleeping soundly, is hoisted gently into his cradle, and you’re about to climb the ladder up to start navigating the Razor Crest closer to the next destination, when Din’s gloved hand reaches out to grab you. </p><p>“Stay here.” </p><p>You nod, and he climbs the ladder, silent in it, and when he returns, it’s with the blanket and pillow you’d commandeered into your nest on the floor. You stare at it, confused, not sure why he’s moving your bed downstairs, and why he hasn’t started in your course to the next bounty, but then he opens the hatch to the alcove where his small bed is hidden, and you forget all about it. </p><p>“I told you,” you reassure him as he gestures for it, “I don’t mind sleeping on the floor, really, and it’s gotten so much better now that you sleep up there with me—”</p><p>“Sweet thing,” he says, and his voice is deep, thick, heavy with the desire from the market earlier, and you shut up. “If you come in there with me…” he trails off, moving closer to you. Maker, he practically encircles your whole body with just one long arm, and you sigh as he envelopes you. “I can take my helmet off.”</p><p>You stare up at him. “Well, then,” you say, quickly, tiptoeing closer to the bed, “Say no more.” You fold yourself up, legs dangling down on the floor, grinning up at him. “Get over here,” you tease, impatient, and he starts removing his armor, piece by piece, until he’s standing in front of you, still clothed, but the closest thing to fully naked you’ve ever seen, without the entirety of the armor, only his helmet left. He steps over to you, and you pull him in against your body, the smell of his soap and the sweet Naboo air that’s lingered on both of your clothes the only thing surrounding you. </p><p>He folds himself up and pulls you with him, and you’re both laying pressed up against each other. It’s tight in here, so tight that you’re up against him the whole way down, but the ceiling’s high, and it’s impossible to feel suffocated when you’ve spent months trying to get this close to him. There’s a hiss in the darkness, and then his helmet’s off. You tentatively reach your hands up to touch his face, and he doesn’t flinch this time. He pulls his hand into your hair, slowly orienting you closer and closer until his lips are on yours. He kisses you for what feels like eons until you both break for air. </p><p>“What was that word you said earlier?” you whisper against his chest, and he sighs, and something about the way he’s holding himself up to you feels like you’ve crossed a line that wasn’t yours to cross. You stroke a hand across his arm, trying to tell him with your silence it’s okay if he doesn’t want to elaborate. You’re quiet for a long time, and when you do speak again, his breathing has regulated to an evenness that makes you wonder if he’s already fallen asleep. “Would you go home, if you could?” Your voice is low. It’s so impossibly dark in here. Everything is blanketed in blackness. It emboldens you.</p><p>You’re not even sure if he heard you, and it feels like full minutes have slipped by before he answers. Your head is pushed flush against his chest. You can hear his heartbeat. </p><p>“No,” he answers lowly. He doesn’t elaborate. You’re satisfied with that answer, with something concrete, something anchored beyond you or the kid or the lives you’ve all entwined. It’s quiet there in bed for minutes before he speaks again, the low rumble of his voice thundering across your face. “Would you?”</p><p>You don’t know what home is. It wasn’t Yavin. Today had made that clear. It hadn’t been in a long time. It certainly wasn’t the hell you gained on Coruscant. It wasn’t Dantooine, either. Everywhere was a place made for leaving, until you met him. The truth was, you traveled around the galaxy, lonely, yearning, wishing, wanting to be a part of something bigger than yourself. To belong to something meaningful. To have something more.</p><p>Maybe it’s the darkness, maybe it’s because you learned his name earlier today and felt a giant knot of kinship in your chest that pulled you towards him, magnetic, but you decide to be honest, too. </p><p>“I am home,” you whisper, the words lighter than air themselves. You don’t flinch, you don’t try to wince at your brazenness, because you know Din can feel every muscle you move against his neck, and you’re done cowering. You’re getting so sleepy. Your eyes are shut, and his arms are so warm, and you could easily fall right into a dream.</p><p>He’s quiet again, but the quiet isn’t unbearable this time. </p><p>“Darasuum,” he says, and your heart flips over. You’re right on the edge of sleep, and you think you’re dreaming until he speaks again. “It’s Mando’a. It…it means…forever.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>AAAA hope you guys loved it!!! lemme know what you think!!! our lovely narrator gets her ~official~ name/title from Din next chapter, that's a lil spoiler as a treat ;)</p><p>SEE YOU NEXT SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 20TH AT 7:30 PM EST RIGHT HERE AND ON TUMBLR!</p><p>xoxo, amelie</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Cyar'ika</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“There’s a word in Mando’a that I know. I’ve never—no one has been worthy of the title…before you.”</p><p>You swallow, everything in you a burning ocean, an impossible paradox. </p><p>“Cyar’ika,” Din says, finally, and it lights up in recognition around the syllables he whispered earlier. “I…I was testing the waters, calling you sweet thing. It means—sweetheart.” He pauses, and then his helmeted face is in yours, and you gasp, his fingers holding your face, eclipsing everything but your line of vision. </p><p>“Din—”</p><p>“I gave you my name,” he says, his voice so deep, reverberating somewhere low and wet inside of you. “Let me give you yours.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>HERE IT IS!!!!! MY FAVORITE CHAPTER SO FAR!!!! i'm SO excited for y'all to read this &amp; to hear what you think! please lemme know!!! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You think you imagined it. The entire conversation, sleeping in his bed, the acknowledgement that Din associated you with forever—it all feels like a fever dream. You jerk awake, and even though it’s always quiet and dark inside the alcove where his bed lives, you know it’s still nighttime. He’s asleep next to you, and when you lance your fingertips off his unshaven cheek you remember his helmet is <i>off</i>. Sleepily, you squeeze your eyes shut until the realization that you’re in complete and total darkness, and you open them again, trying to snuggle in closer against his chest. </p><p>You can feel him breathing. It’s deep, and even, and from someone who seems to treat sleep as optional rather than, you know, a basic human necessity, the sound of his quiet inhaling and exhaling is peaceful. Your leg hurts from being hooked over his all night, so you stretch it as silently as possible, suppressing a yawn and pulling your hand down across his lightly clothed torso. </p><p>The thought that he mentioned you and forever in the same sentence surges through you, and you gasp against Din’s chest. You keep remembering it, the way he whispered it so quietly it was like you swallowed it with the air in his bed, and your breathing quickens when you recall how it came out of his mouth, quiet but honest. </p><p>“Are you okay?” you hear, and the sleepy, unmodulated voice coming out of the darkness surrounding you makes you inhale sharply again. He takes a second, but he finds your face with his bare hand, and you hum happily against the weight and warmth of his palm. </p><p>“Yes,” you answer honestly, already lulled. “Never been better.” </p><p>“You need to sleep,” he mumbles, the rumbles of his deep voice reverberating in the ear that’s pressed flush up against his chest. </p><p>“I am,” you whisper back, although with the repeated <i>Darasuum, it means forever</i> echoing through your mind, sleep just does not seem like a priority. You know how much it must have taken for him to tell you his name and admit that you were just as important, just as vital, to his life as you are to his, and you don’t want to push it, but you <i>really</i> want to hear it again. “Did you mean it?” you manage, and you’re half hoping that Din’s fallen back to sleep, because you can feel yourself flush with the question not being contextualized, and you want him to know what you mean, but you don’t know how to ask that of him, too. </p><p>“What?” You can tell he’s half-asleep, and the anxiety of dreaming the whole thing ripples through you, and you just cling to him closer, pretending you’re on the verge of falling asleep too, if that’s easier for him. </p><p>“Never mind,” you mumble, and one of his hands drags up behind you to stroke your hair. You’re comforted by the warmth of it, by the way that he’s decided running his hands through your loose hair is a reassuring gesture. </p><p>You’re half on the edge of sleep yourself when you hear his voice again. “Of course I meant it.” He whispers something again after, but you can’t catch the syllables, and you just smile against where your lips are pressed against his neck and fall happily into sleep. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>When you wake up again, he’s still next to you, and it’s still impossibly dark. You think you could get used to being in here. It’s warmer, smaller than the nest you always make on the floor of the Razor Crest, and even the stifling darkness doesn’t bother you. How could it, when he’s sleeping next to you?</p><p>You don’t speak for full minutes after you slowly come into consciousness, because Din’s breathing slow and steady right next to you, and you don’t want to disturb him from any precious sleep he’s finally getting. It takes what you gauge is another ten minutes or so, but he slowly wakes up himself, and when he does, he pulls you even closer. His shirt has ridden up a little bit, and you can feel it against your tummy as you’re pressed up against him. You could stay here forever. </p><p>“Good morning,” he says, his voice still thick and heavy with sleep, and you sigh against the greeting. </p><p>“Good morning,” you echo, reaching your hand up to meet his face again. He doesn’t recoil this time. He barely even stiffens. You’re so ecstatic about him being comfortable enough with you to let you touch his bare face after years of closing himself off from the entire world. You want to tell him, want to show him how much this means to you, but you’re still shaking sleep from the corners of your body and you have zero idea how to articulate it. </p><p>“You sleep well?”</p><p>You nod, forgetting he can’t see you. “Better than I have in years.” </p><p>“Years, huh?” he asks, and he shifts gently, and your leg slips in between his. “Better than when I slept on the floor with you?”</p><p>“I like the closeness of being in here, even if your bed is a rock,” you admit softly. “So, yes.”</p><p>“Hm,” he says, and brushes his lips against your forehead. You feel the chills down your spine with that one, and you want to reach up and kiss him, but he’s still talking. “Did you sleep this well in here when I was gone on Jakku?</p><p>It takes a second, and then the embarrassment seeps in. You scrunch your face up, hands moving clumsily to cover it in shame, despite the darkness surrounding both of you. “Oh,” you moan, guiltily, “oh <i>no</i>, I’m so sorry—I didn’t…How did you—?”</p><p>You don’t know what to say, and then Din <i>laughs</i>, really laughs, and pulls you closer, and the embarrassment of your commandeering of his bed completely slips away. “I’m a bounty hunter,” he reminds you, gently, his big hand tangled up in your hair. “I can track anyone anywhere. It wasn’t hard to figure out that you had slept in here when I was gone. It smelled like you,” he continues, and your bury your face into the crook of his neck, “like lavender and my soap, and whatever’s in your hair.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” you whisper again, and then his hands are gripping either side of your face and you can feel the shape of his nose pressing into yours. </p><p>“I’ve been trying to get you in here for months,” he whispers, and your heart flips over. “I actually slept when it smelled like you. Even after—” he stops himself, and you don’t know why he cuts himself off so quickly, until you remember how he tore himself away from you and hid in here for over a week, and you need to reassure him, you need to tell him you forgive him, that it’s okay, but he’s still talking. “I was being—that wasn’t fair to you. I’m sorry,” he says, and that honesty, that apology, still doesn’t seem possible coming out of his mouth. </p><p>“You hurt me,” you say simply, “and then you saved me. Again. Even when I didn’t deserve your protection, it was there.” You try to tilt your head up to look at where you think his face is, and a big hand pulls at the small of your back. “And I didn’t communicate at first, either. I tend to…shut down,” you sigh, embarrassed of the tendency you have to just pull away and go radio silent. “But I—I’m working on it.” </p><p>“What are you thinking about now?” he asks, after a moment, and you can feel his thumb hesitantly rubbing against your bare skin, and you shiver. </p><p>“You,” you say honestly, “and how much I want you.”</p><p>You can hear his breathing hitch. “Where do you want me,” he whispers, and you clench. </p><p>“Everywhere,” you hiss, and you can feel him moving closer, and then his lips are ghosting off of yours, and then—the Crest is screaming from the hull. </p><p>Din jolts up, and you close your eyes, pressing your hands over them so that the sudden burst of light from where the door whooshes open doesn’t give you any glimpses of him he hasn’t consented to. After you hear his helmet click back into place, you slowly remove them, adjusting to the light. Your clothes are messy, leaving leftover wrinkled imprints on your skin. The ship is loud, fussy, when it needs to be, and right now it’s throwing a level of a temper tantrum that could even rival the kid. </p><p>“What’s wrong?” you’re shouting as you’re ascending the ladder, and you know your voice comes out shrill and panicked, but you can’t seem to find the gravity center, and the baby’s floating egg keeps spiraling around the hull. You grab him, not gracefully, and manage to crash land in the copilot’s seat with your arms wrapped awkwardly around him in his cradle. </p><p>“Dank ferrik,” Din seethes, and you can hear it in his voice. You know something’s wrong, because whatever’s radiating off of him right now is wet and hot, dangerous. You hastily strap yourself in, trying to minimize the impact, whenever it’ll hit. “Fucking thing is—?”</p><p>The baby’s ears perk up at all his father’s cursing, and you slightly shake your head at him, trying to look soothing. You’re terrified. The Crest is absolutely falling from space, now, you can feel that it’s more than the gravity center being pulled off course, and you clutch the baby to your chest, trying your absolute best not to hurl. You’ve been in more than enough crash landings, and this one seems even more dangerous than your last, alone and desolate on Nevarro. You want to ask Din again what’s wrong, but he’s stoic and furious at the helm, and all you can do is hold the baby and pray to the Maker that the Crest goes down swinging with the three of you intact.</p><p>What feels like hours—but are probably just exceptionally sedated seconds—later, Din’s able to get the Crest slightly under control, enough to get it to hurtle slightly less dangerously on the encroaching planet. You sort of know where you are, but everything looks opposite and backwards. The planet you’re rushing toward is a swirl of green and white, hulking but gentle-looking, and you clutch tight to the baby as he closes his big bug eyes and lifts his little hand into the air. </p><p>You don’t know how he does it, how much energy he holds in that tiny body, but he does. Somehow, the Force is using the smallest little child as a conduit, and as the Crest breaks into the planet’s atmosphere, you miraculously slow down. </p><p>“Hey!” You scream over the sound of the ship, and you can tell by the way that his ears perk up that you’re bothering the baby, but you need to get through to his dad. “Din, sit down! Now!” </p><p>He looks back at you, wildly, you’re sure, underneath the helmet. He’s still standing at the helm, stubborn as ever, even as the gravity in the hull has completely abandoned you, and the Crest is shrieking through the air. </p><p>“Sit down,” you scream again, and this time, fear leaks into your voice. “Strap in, please—” </p><p>He does. Just in time. You’re still yelling, and even though the baby using the Force is helping, this is the most prolonged, terrifying crash you’ve ever been in. You’ve learned how to evacuate ships, how to bail out, it was practically a necessity in the Alliance. But you learned on X-wings, on cruisers, in escape pods and in self-prioritization. You know how to save yourself. You don’t know how to save anyone else. </p><p>The last thing you remember before you crash land into the swamp surrounding the Crest is how scared your parents must have been back when their ship got shot down by the Empire, and how much it must’ve hurt before they died on impact. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>You wake up in phases.</p><p>Phase One: The kid is crying. You can hear him, tiny little sobs, like hiccups ricocheting out of his mouth. You know he’s somewhere near you, because he seems to be near your ears, but you keep fading in and out of consciousness. He sounds exhausted, and you know that he’s probably close to passing out himself by how small his noises are. Din told you once that after the baby’s used the Force in the past that he can knock himself out for hours. Days, depending on how much energy he’s exerted, and saving two humans, a sizable starship, and himself seems like enough to give him a free pass for a week. </p><p>Phase Two: You can hear music. Which is impossible, you know it’s impossible, because the glimpses you got of the planet before you crashed was enough to assume that it was entirely swamp, desolate and uninhabitable, so there’s no radio stations out here. You know that. And, the voice that’s singing sounds like your mother’s, which is double impossible, because she’s been dead for a decade, give or take, unless you’ve died and gone to the afterlife.</p><p>Phase Three: You aren’t dead. You’re very much not dead, because you can feel yourself bleeding, and while you’re sure you’ll have bruises all over your body by the time you get fully conscious again, you can feel the cut on your leg, and you know that it’s very much real. Besides, you can feel the baby moving around somewhere near your head, just a little, but you know that’s enough proof that you’re still here.</p><p>Phase Four: Your necklace is tangled up at the hollow of your throat, and you can feel the insignia swinging, choking tight against your neck. Hazily, you pull up a few fingers to make sure you can feel it, and you can, you really can, and your arms and hands are still working, which is fantastic. Your eyes flutter open, just for a second, and you categorize your bleeding leg, your tangled necklace, and your loose hair falling in patches over your face. </p><p>Phase Five: Din’s in front of you. You jerk fully awake when you feel his bands hands on your cheeks, gently patting your face to wake you up. They’re warm and much softer than you remember them, and when you rocket upwards, he catches you, one hand still against your cheek, the other slipping smoothly behind your head to cradle it against the ground when you come back down. </p><p>“Are you okay?” His voice is low. Urgent. You look around, disoriented, and find the baby curled up in his cradle, and you manage a shaky sigh of relief, vision fluxing in and out of focus until you can grasp onto the helmet, and you feel like you’ve gotten caught right before the impact, even though the impact has already happened. Everything feels swimmy, like it’s happening out of order. “Hey. Cyar’ika,” he says, and okay, now you think you may not be lucid anymore. He’s talking in a language you don’t understand, and you can feel your eyes fluttering off somewhere far away. “Wake up,” you hear, and with another light slap, you catch your consciousness and your awareness in the same breath, fingers clutching wildly for him. “Where are you hurt?”</p><p>“Um,” you manage, your voice as croaky as the frogs that are the baby’s favorite meal, “Everywhere?”</p><p>“Don’t be smart with me,” Din says, but his voice is the farthest from angry than you’ve ever heard it. Relief. Even under the helmet, even through the modulator, you can hear it, filtered and rushing towards you. </p><p>“It is genuinely everywhere,” you groan, trying to prop yourself up on your elbows, but his hand gently pushes against your chest, and you collapse easily back onto the floor. “Ow.”</p><p>“Just breathe,” Din says, and you want to be annoyed until you realize that you aren’t taking in air in the right way, and after a few seconds of forcibly reminding yourself how to breathe, the tension in your sternum and in your throat alleviates. You check your leg, and you’re bleeding, you’re cut pretty deep across the thigh, and you ripped your favorite pants, but Din’s hands are already on it with alcohol and the bacta patches from the medbay.</p><p>“Don’t,” you say, wearily, brushing loose hair out of your eyes, “don’t waste that all on me—what if you need it again—?”</p><p>“Stop,” Din interrupts, and even though his voice is level, you know he’s trying to be gentle. “This is a nasty wound. I need to dress it before it gets infected, and I need you to let me.” </p><p>“Oh,” you manage, and you’re pretty sure he thinks you’ve said no again, because his hand has found your cheek. “But what if you need them—?”</p><p>“Beskar,” he says, gruffly, rapping his hand against his chest. “I’m fine. I can take a worse hit than you can. Let me put this on you.” The noise of it, metallic and piercing, rings dangerously somewhere near your right ear. You tap it, realizing that it’s ringing, and then you start to panic. </p><p>“I can’t hear,” you say, your voice uneasy. “My ear—oh, Maker, oh no, <i>no</i>—”</p><p>“Relax,” Din barrels over you, and amidst your panic, you realize that you can still hear his voice, and you sigh. “You banged your head a little bit. On the kid’s cradle. It’s probably just leftover from the impact.” </p><p>“Okay,” you manage, voice still shaky, but then he’s cleaning your wound and pressing the bacta patch against you, and everything else but the rush of pain from it disappears from your orbit. “<i>Fuck</i>,” you shout, and you’re very glad the baby is sleeping across the helm of the ship, because the curse ricochets. “That <i>hurts</i>—”</p><p>“Too bad,” Din hisses, and you look up at him, confused. He’s holding it so gently to your skin, his one hand still cradled behind the nape of your neck. “I’m not letting you bleed out.”</p><p>You don’t know what to say. You want to see his face. This is absolutely, definitely not the time, but you want to look into his eyes and make sure that he’s not angry at you, not mad that you ordered him to sit down, and you want to tell him you don’t understand why he sounds so volatile—You think he’s looking at you. You can’t tell, obviously, the visor is as stubbornly opaque as ever, but with the way his left hand is holding the patch down to adhere to your skin and with the way his right hand is tangled up in your hair, his torso bent over yours—you can feel it. It’s magnetic, his gaze. It makes everything else in the galaxy fade away. That’s how you know he’s locked onto you. </p><p>“Thank you,” you say, ear still ringing. It isn’t what you intend to say, but then the helmet is nodding, and you smile up at him the best that you can. You’re dazed, and you’re sore, but now that the bleeding from your thigh is under control, you feel better. More concrete. More you. You look around, and then you see that there’s blood on the floor. Blood that definitely isn’t coming from the cut on your leg. “Din,” you say, urgently, and he’s not moving, “hey, Din, <i>hey</i>—”</p><p>“I have it under control,” he cuts you off, but there’s a brittleness to his voice, and it’s scaring you. “Stay down, don’t you dare get up—”</p><p>You ignore him. You push past the dizzying feeling of rocketing upward, wrapping your legs and your arms around his torso, clumsily but intentionally, shaky fingers probing different places around his body. He doesn’t flinch at your touch, something that you hope to the Maker that’s due to him trusting you and not because he’s fading out of consciousness. But, even as you’re muttering to him, asking if he’s okay, he’s nodding, it’s slow, but it’s there. Your fingers find the rip in the fabric where the blood is. </p><p>He did take care of it. Badly. Very badly, actually, because all the care he seems to have in the world is focused on the kid and you. He didn’t even patch it, just cleaned it and stuck gauze up to it. </p><p>“Where are the bacta patches?” You ask, urgent. “Din. Where’s the rest of them—?”</p><p>“Gone,” he says. “On you. I’m fine.” </p><p>You don’t trust him. It’s a nasty cut, and it’s on his arm, and he did bleed a lot, but it’s clotted around the wound, and you sigh noisily and sit back. “What a pair we are,” you joke, and it’s not the place, or the time, but that glorious chuckle comes through the modulator, and you grin happily. “Is the baby—?”</p><p>“He’s okay. He does this.” He pauses, and both of you are so close to being intertwined, with your legs draped over his, your arms on his wound, his one hand on your leg, the other still in your hair, and you just want to lean in and pull him closer. “He…sleeps. When he exerts too much energy.” You scoot your aching body into him. He sighs, hand jerkily stroking your hair. “He saved us.” </p><p>“What happened?” you murmur, practically burying your tender face into his shoulder. “Why did the Crest just…bottom out like that?” </p><p>“Mechanical failure,” Din says, and for a second you think that’s his full answer. “I don’t know, for sure, but the navigation got fucked with somehow, and we moved backwards. Away from the Mid Rim.”</p><p>Your stomach flips over. “But—we have—the bounty, he’s all the way in the Mid Rim.”</p><p>Din sighs. “I know.” </p><p>“Will the puck—will you be able to find him if we get there late?”</p><p>“I can find anything,” he says, confidently, his voice low and distant, even through the modulator, and you know it’s the truth. “How’s the ear?”</p><p>You assess the situation. “Still ringing. But I think my hearing is coming back.” </p><p>“Good.” </p><p>Both of you are slumped against each other now, the centrifugal force of both of your body weights propping each other up. “Hey. Din?”</p><p>He sighs, all air. His hand has found your hair again. “Yeah?”</p><p>“What did you call me earlier?” </p><p>You fade out into sleep before you can hear his answer. </p><p> </p><p>Your body hurts. You’ve collected a lifetime of your body hurting, but this time it’s bad. Your stomach has purpled up again by the time you wake up the next morning, bruises across your torso from where the seatbelt dug in. Your neck feels like you have the galaxy’s worst case of whiplash. You have a headache, which you’re not sure is entirely from the crash or just because your body’s decided it’s time to overload the pain, and you want to feel Din’s hands stroking through your hair and melt it away.</p><p>Where <i>is</i> Din?</p><p>You survey your surroundings, very groggily. It’s dark in here, but you can tell that while things and bodies got tossed around a bit, the Crest held its ground in the crash. You’re banged up, but the baby seems untouched, and he’s still snoozing away in the cradle. You panic, seeing the dried blood on the floor, but then you realize that you can hear noise coming from downstairs, and as you creep, wincing, towards the ladder, it’s definitely swearing in another language coming through the modulator. It’s your Mandalorian. </p><p>“Hi,” you say, over the noise of the wires that he’s fussing with, and he turns around as you try your best to slink painlessly down the ladder, armored arms catching you as you slip. You’re tired, and you’re aching, but being in between his arms again is worth the pain of getting up. “What are you messing with?”</p><p>“Wiring,” he explains. “Something got disconnected in here. I think that’s what happened when the ship first started to fail.” </p><p>“Oh no,” you say, peering in at the mess of them. “Do you need…help?” </p><p>He’s staring at you. You can feel it. “From you?”</p><p>You know he’s poking fun at you, so you swat at him, the bruises on your ribs swelling with the movement. “I can fix anything if you give me time and the resources to succeed.”</p><p>“You’re a great pilot,” he counters. “And an excellent babysitter. And very good…with me. But wires aren’t really where you shine.”</p><p>You smile up at him, all playful malice completely wiped away. “Who needs ‘em?” </p><p>“Unfortunately,” he sighs, “us. This is probably going to be a full-day job.” </p><p>Your heart sinks. You know that he needs to fix the ship, immediately, and that you’ve already been backtracked hours, maybe days, with the navigation failing, and that he needs to spend the time focused on the Crest and not on you. And you could probably take a shower, or go back to sleep, or just lay in his bed and touch yourself with the thought of the next time he can join you in there, but you want him. You’re being selfish. You’re being a little ridiculous, too, because you had him for hours the day before, and you had him all night, but it’s burning a hole through you. “Can I do anything to help?”</p><p>“Rest,” he says, and you sigh, but he’s pointing at the floor, so you slowly sink down on it. “Right here, so I can watch you.”</p><p>“Should I be in any specific position?” you ask, playfully, and he sighs at you, but it’s all air. You sink down against the wall, and after a few seconds of readjusting, Din kneels down next to you. </p><p>“Lift this,” he says, softly, and he gestures at your shirt. It’s such an obvious parallel to the first time he really touched you, way back when you first came aboard the Razor Crest. It feels like the both of you have traveled galaxies since then, and he’s had access to practically your entire body, but he’s still being so cautious with you. You hum happily as your fingers slip underneath the hem. </p><p>“It’s not that bad,” you insist, and then his gloved hands are on you. “Really.”</p><p>“You have a line of bruises from your ribcage to your hip,” Din says, cutting you off. “It’s bad.”</p><p>You smile up at him. “You fixed me before.”</p><p>His visor slowly rests on your face, and suddenly, for some reason, you feel embarrassed. “You don’t need fixing,” he says, softly, and he grazes the pads of his fingers over your belly, tracing the line of your scar before he gently lifts your shirt back down. </p><p>You don’t know what to say. You just swallow, and nod, and let him get back to the mess of the wires. “Where are we?”</p><p>Din’s silent for a few minutes, trying to work a very tangled wire back into the place it apparently belongs. “Dagobah.” </p><p>You do a double take. “Really?”</p><p>His helmet rests on you. “Do you know it?”</p><p>You shake your head, softly. “I’ve never been here. But—I’ve heard of it. Growing up on the Rebel base, it got mentioned a lot.”</p><p>He looks at you, helmet cocked to the side like he’s puzzled. “Why?”</p><p>“Apparently, this is one of the strongest places in the Force,” you say, eyes glancing up the ladder to where the baby is sleeping soundly. “I heard rumors that this is where Luke Skywalker came to train with an old Jedi Master. But, you know, my parents heard it from one of the Damerons, who probably heard it from Wedge Antilles, and Wedge was an exaggerator of epic proportions who apparently said that Luke Skywalker was a drama king himself, and half of these stories also came from Lando Calrissian, who played the best game of Sabacc in fifty parsecs but somehow lost his ship to Han Solo, so all of this could really just be hearsay.”</p><p>You can feel him staring at you. His helmet is cocked to the side, and he’s dropped the wires to listen to you talk. “…Who?”</p><p>You grin. “Which one?”</p><p>“Any…of them?” </p><p>“What were you <i>doing</i> when the Empire fell?” you ask, gawking at him. </p><p>“Hunting people,” he answers, brusquely, like he can’t believe you just asked that question. “Bringing in bounties.”</p><p>“Well, yeah,” you reason with him. “Obviously.” </p><p>You fall into silence after that, for a long time. It’s starting to grow on you. It’s not loud and deafening like it used to be when he’d barely speak in your presence, and it isn’t absent like it is when he leaves the ship and the Crest’s quiet is all too loud. It’s comfortable. Easy. You think maybe you slip into sleep, sometimes, but then he’s gently stroking your hair, and you open your eyes to a helmet full of beskar. “Hi,” you whisper, barely suppressing a yawn. “How’re the wires?”</p><p>“Getting there,” Din says, his voice soft, even through the modulator. “You should walk around. You don’t want those bruises to set in.” </p><p>“What?” you yawn, still clinging to the edges of sleep. </p><p>“Just go around the ship a few times. Stay close. I surveyed the surroundings, and there’s no life forms out there bigger than a few fish and birds. It’s just a swamp, so watch your footing.”</p><p>You squint. “You trust me enough to go on a walk after that crash?” </p><p>“I assessed your damage,” he counters, and you smile as one of his hands finds your cheek. “You don’t have any internal bleeding. You’re banged up, and you’re tired, but you’re going to need to walk some of that soreness off.” </p><p>“I don’t like walking,” you grumble, which is half the truth and half for show, but Din’s reaching under your arms and lifting you up, effortlessly, and it’s so much harder to argue with him on your feet. </p><p>“I’ll come out and meet you in five minutes,” he says, leaning in to croon it into your ear. “Don’t go falling into any swamps, sweet thing.”</p><p>Your tummy flips over at the nickname, and you grin happily up at him before you make your slow, uneven way down the gangplank. </p><p>Dagobah is certainly a swampland. Everything is green, and alive, but the humidity out here is horrendous, and the low noises from critters and the water fade into the foggy atmosphere as you painfully limp around the ship. Every step hurts, and breathing in such a muggy climate isn’t easy when your bruises trail from your sternum all the way down, an aching constellation. But there’s a serenity to the swamp, you marvel as you make your second loop around the Crest, slow but slightly steadier. The trees are gorgeous, willows and sycamores and thousands of different species that you’ve never seen before dot the swamp line and flutter gently in the light breeze. You pull off your top layer of your shirt as you walk, twisting your loose hair back so it doesn’t hang, sweaty and gross, in your face. </p><p>In a weird way, it reminds you of Yavin. The climate on your home planet was much more temperate, and it varied when you traveled, but the greenness of everything pulsing with life feels even more present here. It makes sense that this place is a hub for the Force’s energy, from what little you know about it. There’s something under the skin of the swampland that comes up and buffets you as you walk, a restorative, pulsing energy, and after your third go-around, you decide your injuries are at bay enough to explore a little bit. You call into Din to tell him that you’re going to explore a little bit, but you can’t tell if he hears you as he’s working. He didn’t detect any major life forms outside of the small heartbeats of swamp creatures and reptilian birds, and this place seems entirely deserted otherwise, so you figure it’s safe enough to duck between some mossy boulders and try to see if the terrain changes at all when you get further away from the swamp. </p><p>It’s still humid as you slowly make your way into the jungle, but the air seems to clear a little bit as you climb. The ground is still a little soggy, and it takes a few times slipping to get adjusted to the environment. You wish the baby were with you, in his little cradle or on your back, because you can imagine how much those big bug eyes of his would light up at this much green. The rocks are all covered with layers of moss, giant stone circles emerging and diverting as you follow a long, sloping path. Before you realize it, the ground gives way to a lined path at the foot of a massive gnarltree, where there’s a slanted opening large enough for you to fit inside.</p><p>The rational part of your brain kicks in, warning you about the dangers of going into an unexplored cave all alone, especially when you’re not sure if Din knows where you are, on this desolate planet probably full of things not located at the swamp that could potentially kill you, but something outside of yourself seems to be pulling you in towards it. You fiddle with your necklace, both as a nervous tic and as reassurance, and you allow yourself one more look behind you before you slowly enter the opening of the tree.</p><p>It’s dark in here. Strangely, it feels almost like a cathedral, like someplace holy and higher than you belong in. But there’s a sense of remembering, too, and you don’t know what it is. It pulses the same as you and Din’s great cosmic connection, inexplicable and warm, living in the place right under your skin. You’re moving slowly, carefully, trying your best to stay aware, to keep your eye on the entrance in case you have to make a quick exit, but then something shifts.</p><p>It’s not humid anymore. The air around you is cold, unsettling. All that rightness that had embraced you just a few seconds ago has completely disappeared. You swallow, trying to find some sort of gumption that has absolutely evaporated by now, hands hanging splayed out at your sides. </p><p>You hear your name. It’s through the modulator, and you spin around, in utter relief, but the beskar looks different. It’s sharpened in all the wrong places, something dangerous about the silhouette. The allusion of the metal fades away. You want to shout for Din, but something burning horribly in the pit of your stomach says that you shouldn’t say his real name out loud. </p><p>“M—Mando?” you manage, voice tiny and shaking. </p><p>“No,” the figure says, and before you can focus, it shifts. The man in front of you is slightly smaller, stockier, brown hair hanging dangerously in either side of his face, outfit made out of something less intentional and substantiative than the beskar you’ve grown used to. There’s a scar on his face, down the left cheek, and it makes his unsettling smile even more terrifying. “Guess again.”</p><p>“No,” You stumble backward, lurching onto the cave walls. They’re slimy, and you lose your grip as he lunges toward you. “No, you’re supposed to be dead—”</p><p>“You can’t kill me,” the figure says, and then he materializes in front of your face, snapping his large teeth like that Twi’lek did back on Jakku, and you can’t help it. You cry out, raising your hands in front of your face, and a gust of something much stronger than wind upturns you, and you fall painfully back on the heels of your hand, a mossy stone jutting into your ass as you fall down, quick and disoriented. “I live inside you now.”</p><p>“You do <i>not</i>,” you seethe, desperately, swinging at the figure in front of you. “I killed you, Jacterr—” his name catches in your throat like a dirty curse word, “I killed you, you’re dead, you can’t be—<i>No</i>!” Your voice is so frightened. You don’t scare easily. You’ve seen the darkest parts of the galaxy. You’ve had pretty much everything torn away from you. You’re kind and you’re gentle and you’re usually good in the face of a crisis, but you’re pretty sure that you’re going to die here. You keep seeing his face flashing in front of you, illuminated in the blue of the lightsaber’s glow when you unleashed it through his torso, when he gave you your own nasty scar to match. He reaches out, big hand threatening at your throat, and then you roll over and you’re somewhere else. You’re in the back of a ship as it’s crashing down, everything disengaging, horrific and terrifying. It’s not the Crest, it’s not a ship you’ve ever been on. Your parents, younger than you remember them, are clutching each other in their certain deaths, hands desperate and intertwined. You can see where the wound is on the ship, and you know if you run you can get to it, and they won’t be shot down, they won’t crash land and leave their bodies behind and die in an explosion of pink mist—but as you lunge forward, crying, the cave’s mossy floor rises up out of nowhere and knocks the wind out of you. You can hear the baby sobbing, and the sound of TIE fighters shooting, and you’re watching him being wrenched up into the air, and then, somehow, out of nowhere, you feel a hand on your shoulder, and you know it, you’d recognize Jacterr’s horrible fists anywhere, so you sob, bracing for impact, trying so hard to think of anything except how you weren’t brave in the face of certain death, that you were horrified, that you’d die crying—</p><p>You hear your name again, and you look up. You’re not in the cave, anymore, you’re out at the landing of the gnarltree and you’re sitting on the warm ground, and when you look up, all the greenery around you fades in the place of where your Mandalorian’s mask is.</p><p>You can’t manage anything, not even a thank you, not even an apology, but then he’s on the forest floor with you and you’re in his arms and the rest of the world fades out. You’re pretty sure he’s saying something, that he’s gripping your face, but you can’t manage anything except the heaving breaths you’re taking and the tears running down your cheeks. </p><p>“Hey,” his voice suddenly cuts through the noise, and you inhale shakily, realizing that you’re okay, you’re in Din’s arms, and you clutch at him. “I have you, I’ve got you, you’re safe—”</p><p>“He—is he—?”</p><p>Din’s grip tightens on your face, one hand pulling his blaster out of nowhere, “Who?”</p><p>“Jacterr,” you sob, messy, and he sighs and pulls you in closer to his chest. </p><p>“He’s dead,” Din says, gently, and for some reason his patience makes your heart bottom out even more. “He’s long gone, sweet thing, I promise. Whatever you saw in there, it wasn’t him.”</p><p>“Could you see him?” you whisper, blinking through tears, trying to coax your heartbeat back to normal. “When you got me out—of there, could you see him?”</p><p>You know he’s staring at you, you can feel it, and he carefully pulls your snotty face out of the beskar and looks at your eyes. “It’s just a cave in a tree,” he says, slowly. “I don’t know what happened to you in there, but it’s not going to hurt you. I scanned it. There’s no life forms in there but you.” </p><p>You swallow, hiccupping shaky breaths as you finally start to rocket back to the present. He’s still holding you up, so intentionally, one hand braced against your back so if you sag into the emotion again, he can catch you without even trying. “I saw him,” you insist, “and then I saw my parents die, like I was in the back of their ship—I felt his <i>hands</i> on me, Din, how could he not be in there?”</p><p>The helmet is cocked to the side, and as you let yourself just be supported by his arms, that feeling that you saw something more in there, something other than what he could, pulses dangerously inside your chest, fitfully and constant. You’re so tired, and when he asks you if you can walk, you nod and then stumble to your feet, and he just slings your body over his, so you’re linking your arms around him piggyback style, and he’s carrying you back to the ship as you close your eyes against the exhaustion. He’s quiet, and for once, the silence isn’t begging you to be filled. You just exist as the air falls back into its humidity, and you sigh when you’re carried up the gangplank into the cool exterior of the Razor Crest, and Din lowers you gently onto the little nest of blankets and pillows you had made before you left the ship. </p><p>“I didn’t mean to,” you manage, finally, as he comes to rest beside you, pulling your head effortlessly into his lap as he leans against the wall. His hands are in your hair and it’s becoming nearly impossible to think about literally anything else. “I don’t—I didn’t mean to wander off like that, but it was like something…pulled me there.” </p><p>He’s silent. For a long time. You want to fill it up with words, to deliver a better apology, but nothing you can think of sounds like it’s appropriate for the situation. You wince again at how naïve you were, how trusting of a landscape that pulsed with a deeper energy than you do, and you just press your wobbling lips together and hope that he doesn’t chastise you. “I don’t mind rescuing you,” Din manages, finally, and you squeeze your eyes shut. “I keep you safe, that’s the deal. But you <i>have</i> to stop running off into dangerous situations, because every time you do, it seems like I’m the only one standing between you and your death.” </p><p>You can’t help it. A small sob comes out of your lips, and your eyes betray you with more tears. You need to apologize. “I know, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—I don’t know what’s going on, I never used to be this much of a hazard, I—”</p><p>“You aren’t a hazard,” Din interrupts, “but before you, the kid and I…we were a clan of two. Now we’re three. And that means I protect you, too. It’s one more thing I have to be responsible for. It’s that simple.”</p><p>You swallow. “I won’t leave the ship again.”</p><p>“You’re not understanding,” Din says, and he sounds annoyed, and you chance opening your eyes. With his hand, he pulls your chin up, so that you make direct eye contact with his visor and you can’t pull away. “I protect you. I need to, because I need you.” You gasp. “I want you to have a life outside this ship. I want you to explore every world we travel.” You nod, the best you can with his hand still hooked so forcefully under your jaw, and his helmet dips a little lower over you as you bite your lip. “But you, and the kid,” Din says, and he sighs through the modulator, low and dangerous, “you’re mine. There’s no place in the galaxy you can hide from me,” he says, and the warmth of it, the possession, the safety of the same admission Merle made when he was about to kill you makes something inside you flood over, “so stay out of the ones that will bring you danger, or I’ll kill every last thing that tries to hurt you.”</p><p>You sob again. “I promise. I’ll…be safer. I won’t run,” and the reminder of the first time that you said that to him feels both so faraway and so recent, and it swells inside your chest. “Darasuum. Forever.”</p><p>He’s quiet, suddenly, and you don’t know if what you said was okay. You know the Mando’a feels foreign on your tongue, and you’re so terrified that you botched it and you made everything he just said null and void. Your heartbeat is so palpable, the blood rushing in your ears, and you’d bet everything you had that Din can hear it. </p><p>“Most of Mando’a has been lost,” Din finally admits, voice low through the modulator. “The Mandalorians I’ve been with since I became one…we all just know the basics. But there’s a few words I remember from when I was a child.” He swallows, his fingers busy in your hair, and you stay as still and quiet as you possibly can. “What’s your favorite thing I call you?” he asks, and it seems like such a switch in conversation that you balk at him, confused. </p><p>“I—sweet thing,” you say, “and sweet girl just as much.”</p><p>His fingertip traces down your temple, and you shudder. “I know your name,” he whispers lowly, and this is the first time you’ve ever heard him sound hesitant, nervous. “But you’re…you’re the purest thing in this galaxy. You’re kind. You take care of the kid…you take better care of me than I’ve—” he cuts himself off, and you try so hard to fight the exploding stars in your ears as he’s trying to explain. “There’s a word in Mando’a that I know. I’ve never—no one has been worthy of the title…before you.”</p><p>You swallow, everything in you a burning ocean, an impossible paradox. </p><p>“Cyar’ika,” Din says, finally, and it lights up in recognition around the syllables he whispered earlier. “I…I was testing the waters, calling you sweet thing. It means—sweetheart.” He pauses, and then his helmeted face is in yours, and you gasp, his fingers holding your face, eclipsing everything but your line of vision. </p><p>“Din—”</p><p>“I gave you my name,” he says, his voice so deep, reverberating somewhere low and wet inside of you. “Let me give you yours.” </p><p>You close your eyes. squeeze them shut, hoping he’ll know what you’re wordlessly asking for. After a minute of you waiting, breath bated, everything inside you echoing and warm, you hear the hiss of the helmet disengaging, and you hum happily as you hear his gloves being pulled off his hands. </p><p>“What do you want?” His voice is everywhere. You shudder. </p><p>“Kiss me,” you manage, and as you can feel him leaning into you, you whisper the next half, hoping he understands what you mean, “For starters. And then…take your time with me.”</p><p>When his lips meet yours, his body a promise, everything else in the universe vanishes.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>AHHHHH I HOPE YOU ALL LOVED IT!! i'll be hanging around all night both here and on tumblr https://www.tumblr.com/blog/amiedala if anyone wants to talk about it!!!</p><p>CHAPTER 11 WILL BE UP SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 27TH, AT 7:30 PM EST!!!</p><p>xoxo, amelie</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. You Make Me Quiet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>You’re <i>crazy</i> about him, you realize, clumsily dressing in the handful of clothes you brought into the tiny room with you, absolutely bonkers, head-over-heels. You fall easily. For as long as you can remember, you tumble into things headfirst with zero hesitations. Dangerous situations, helping people out, love, anything. You take the leap and don’t worry about the fall until you’re already on the ground. And the pieces of you that have calcified because of all your crashes, they’re loosening, pinking over after years of ache and sadness. You know you should be more careful, that you shouldn’t be running headfirst over cliffs anymore, but this life, this life with Din and the baby, this doesn’t feel like jumping. </p><p>It feels like landing on your feet, intact, exactly where you’re supposed to be.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I HOPE Y'ALL ARE READY FOR THIS ONE!!! I AM SO EXCITED TO SHARE THEIR FIRST TIME WITH YOU ALL! ;)</p><p>quick content warning for explicit sex (duh), mentions of past violence/abuse (this also gets pretty explicit, please don't read the conversation Cyar'ika and Din have about Jacterr if you think it will trigger or hurt you!!!)</p><p>FYI: this chapter is a tad shorter, (i'm so sorry!!!) but the next one is shaping up to be 10k+ words!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He’s not gentle. Anywhere else, he’s not gentle. He’s rough and hardened by the entire world around him. You’ve seen him drop five men in one stroke with nothing but a blade and a blaster to do it with. He’s snapped necks, he’s killed bounties in your line of sight, he sliced Merle’s throat wide open in front of you. He’s quick and fast and rough. Not messy, but efficient. It comes with the territory of hunting people for his own livelihood, of having to harden himself against the galaxy that he explores. </p><p>But with you? With you, it’s like everything you associate with the armor, with some kind of shield—it all comes down. For the first few weeks, for the first month, even, you couldn’t even tell if he really wanted you aboard or if it was simply easier than the alternative, but then something flipped. He started feeling the cosmic pull between the both of you, the same one that knocked you straight off your feet when he picked you up on Nevarro. He treats you like you’re the purest thing in the galaxy. You thought it was a line when he told you it for the first time, but no—to him, you <i>are</i>. It doesn’t matter what mistakes you’ve made, it doesn’t matter what happened in the past. You belong to him now, and he’d tear the world apart to protect you from it.</p><p>You’ve imagined this. A million times. What it would be like when he got his bare hands on you, inside you, when he <i>finally</i> fucked you—but right now, you’re having enough trouble staying conscious. </p><p>His helmet is off. It’s dark in here, the normal level of darkness that lingers in the corners of the Crest, but it’s bright enough that if you opened your eyes, you could see more than his silhouette, and the thought alone that he’s trusting you, wordlessly, to keep them closed keeps swelling in your chest. </p><p>Din has scruff. You can feel it on your lips, his five o’clock shadow and his groomed mustache—you’re assuming, solely from what’s pressing into your face—roughing up your skin. It’s the kind of little hurts that sing out as they sting, pain teetering on enough pleasure to keep you reaching for more. He’s on top of you, murmuring sweet nothings against you as you’re kissing him, everything in you burning, alive. Your hands are in his hair, his are traveling up and down your sweat-slicked body, zero regard for how humid it was outside, how your eyes are still puffy and swollen from crying back on Dagobah’s surface.  </p><p>“I’m gross,” you finally say, embarrassed, as his gloveless hands pause around your hips, and you whine, opening your legs so he slides against you. You can feel that he’s hard, and you can imagine, even clothed, that he can tell how wet you are by the way you’ve been mewling in his ear. </p><p>“You’re not,” he says, voice low and gravelly. It shoots through you and goes places you never thought it could touch. “Shut up, please, I’m trying to kiss you—”</p><p>“I’m dirty,” you say, and he sighs, hard, and pushes himself down on you, and your breath comes out all soaked. “I have—I should get in the fresher before we....”</p><p>“Cyar’ika,” he grits out, and the entire planet stops spinning on its axis. “Keep talking like that, and all you’ll get is my tongue cleaning you off.”</p><p>“That sounds like a dream,” you say, blissfully, crying out as his teeth nip lightly at your neck.  “But seriously, I’m dirty, and—” </p><p>“I like you dirty,” Din growls, and your heart flips over. “Now stop talking.”</p><p>You oblige. Stars, he feels good. He’s hungry, tongue licking little love bites into every hollow on your body. When he tugs at your shirt, you just nod, letting him pull it over your head. You want to warn him that your bra clasps in a strange place, but he just claws at you and tears it clean off, like he’s done it a million times. All he wants is to get closer to your skin. He pauses at your collarbone once you’re completely naked from the waist up, and without even thinking, you just nod furiously at him, giving him wordless permission to move wherever he wants.</p><p>“Where can I go?” he whispers, and it’s so quiet that you don’t even register it at first. </p><p>“Everywhere,” you gasp as his mouth moves downward, one hand gently stroking between your tits, mouth finding your nipple and sucking hard. You gasp, back arching upward unintentionally, and you can feel him harden even further on top of you as he rocks his hips deeper into the valley between your legs. “Oh—oh, please—more.”</p><p>“More?” he asks, and his gorgeous voice sounds dumbfounded. “More here?” he moves over, tongue and teeth latching around your other nipple, and you gasp, wanting him there forever, and then as quickly as he got there, he’s gone, mouth trailing kisses all the way down your stomach, tongue zig-zagging over the scar, gentle and still so light against you. “Or more here?” He’s taking his time with you, just like he promised, barely even grazing up against you when you want him to fucking plow you into the floor of his ship. </p><p>“More everywhere,” you manage, voice high and squeaking. You want him inside you so badly that you can’t even stand it. “Please—will you—please, I want to suck you—” </p><p>“No,” he says, simple and sweet, and your head slams back against the floor with the way his mouth is roving down around your bellybutton. “Can I take these off?”</p><p>You nod again, blood rushing in your ears. “Take whatever you want,” you gasp, honest, and he’s so slow with the way he undresses you, like he’s savoring every single second with you. Din’s so patient, always, but especially in comparison to your neediness, it’s bizarre. He’s savoring you, every single inch of you, but you want him to devour you, which is <i>so</i> counterintuitive, but it’s how your frazzled mind is screaming itself raw at you right now. </p><p>He slips your pants down to your ankles, the fabric catching around your shoes, and he slips them all off in one fluid motion. Your eyelids flutter as he travels the entire length of your body with his mouth, kisses butterflying up between your thighs and your bellybutton and your sternum and your neck and finally your face.</p><p>You whimper. “Din,” you whisper, barely anything but air, “<i>please</i> let me taste you—” </p><p>“No,” he says, again, but you can hear his resolve is crumbling. “Not yet.” </p><p>“Why,” you whine. “I want to, I want to give you a taste—” </p><p>You shut up, because his bare fingers are in your mouth. Your eyes almost open at the sensation of it, but everything in you clenches, and you squeeze them tight enough to see stars behind your eyelids. It’s not what you wanted to suck on, but it’s something, and you move your tongue between them, trying your best to lap every inch of them up as he moans against your warmth. </p><p>“Can I—” his breath hitches. “Can I touch you?”</p><p>You nod, vigorously, and you think you’re going to give yourself whiplash with the repeated act of it, so, around his fingers, you choke out, “<i>yes</i>.”</p><p>His fingers leave your mouth so fast, you almost complain, and then he’s shifting, bracing his knees against the floor of the Crest and his hands part your thighs. You want to scream, but he’s not even up against you yet. He’s breathing so heavy, and there’s such a pregnant pause that you think maybe he’s lost the urge, but then you hear movement and he’s licking you, from the bottom up, and your legs fly up with the sensation of it.</p><p>Din’s hands catch your shaking shins and rest them on his shoulders, head diving back in between your thighs. He eats you like he’s never tasted anything before. His tongue is long and it laps you up, mouthfuls of nothing but wetness and warmth. You’re so close, already, and you don’t want to tell him to stop, but you’re on the edge. “Din,” you gasp, breath coming out in spurts, “I’m gonna—” </p><p>“Cum,” he says, breath of air against your pussy as he pulls away for the second, and you do. You can’t hold any of it in. Your fingers clutch desperately at fistfuls of his hair, soft and warm, your eyes rolling back heavenward. </p><p>“Maker,” you say, practically knocked out with the sensation of it, and for one glorious second, you think he’s going to give you a break enough to catch your breath, but his mouth only disappears to put his fingers on you instead. </p><p>You don’t even think that he’d need to rub your clit for you to get halfway there again, because just the shaking tips of his fingers are enough to make you spiral out again. You’re pretty sure you have the worst case of sensory overload in the galaxy, or he’s just really that fucking good, or maybe it’s both, and then his middle finger grazes down to push you open, and you scream with the sensation of it. “Go in,” you beg, raggedy and hoarse. “Please, <i>please</i>, finger me—”</p><p>Whatever you were going to say gets cut off by the feeling of it. His fingers are as thick as they are long, and you’re drenched by the time he gets a second one inside you. You gasp at him, whispering things that you can’t even distinguish, and you’re already so close again when somehow, his mouth is back on you. It’s too much. You think you actually pass out at that one, with his fingers still pumping deep inside you, tongue on your clit, and you have to drag him up by his hair because you physically can’t sleep. </p><p>“Wait,” you say, the word barely there at all. “I want you, so much—<i>so bad<i>, all of you—but I need a break for a second.” </i></i></p><p>
  <i>
    <i>He moves slowly off to the side, hand pressed flat against your tummy, equidistant from both places that make you go starstruck. “You just tell me when,” he says, and his voice is just as rough as yours, and <i>Maker</i>, you haven’t even touched <i>him</i> yet. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Can I touch you now?” You’re begging, you can hear it in your voice, but your hands are fluttering at nothing and you want to keep him right here on the edge with you. “Please, just—just a little, I want it so bad.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“You can’t put me in your mouth,” he warns, heaving himself up next to you. “You can’t, or I won’t be able to fuck you. Do you understand?”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>You nod, eagerly, and then Din’s pulling you up so that you’re sitting, gently guiding you against the wall of the ship. You reach around, blindly, and then he’s straddling over your legs and you <i>know</i> that his cock is right there, but you’re a woman of your word, and you force your tongue in between your teeth as he guides your hand to it. He gasps the second you put your skin to his. You’ve seen it, in glimpses, when your mouth wasn’t on it, but it practically eclipses the entirety of your hand as your fingers slide over the wetness leaking from the tip, pumping him with as much energy as you can manage. His hand slams into the wall behind you with the feeling of it, and you smile in the dark as you slip your hand, loose and then tight again, up and down the shaft, trying to give him something—anything—that’s close to what he gives you. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Mm,” he sighs, and his mouth up against your ear makes you wet again, too, and he’s still talking. “I can’t take much more of that, cyar’ika, please, just—” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Okay,” you say, low, disappointed, letting go. He pulls you back down to the floor, and it’s so sudden, that your eyes blink open for just a second, and you can see the hair trailing down his stomach, leading to where your hands just were, and before you can close them tight, you see how he’s twitching for you. Your eyes are squeezed shut, again, and then he’s on top of you, and you can feel his bare skin against yours, and suddenly you’re dripping. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Please,” you choke out, “please, Din, please—”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“I’m not going to last long,” he warns, again, and you nod eagerly against him, just dying to feel the way he moves inside you. “I’m going to fuck you now,” he says, and something about how brazen he is makes your body sing. You arch your hips up against him, and when the head of his cock meets you, you think you could die happily.</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>But then, <i>then</i> he’s thrusting inside you, and it’s agonizingly slow at first, but once he sinks himself all the way into you, he makes some comment about how tight you are, and that alone almost takes you over the edge again.  “Oh,” you manage, and then you’re being ravaged, and you’re screaming out his name in between breathing that feels performative instead of substantiative, and his own grunts and moans are in your ear, and you think maybe you’ve been flailed clean out of the Crest after he’s been thrusting more than a few times. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“You feel so fucking good,” he whispers, and you’re done for. Everything is just stars, just explosion after explosion, and you can feel your orgasm building again, even though you’re so close to just passing out from the overstimulation of it all, and his hand comes up to cup your face while he’s fucking you, and that’s all you can take.</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Din,” you say, in a voice that’s barely even recognizable, “I’m gonna—”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Wait,” he interrupts, and even though you don’t think it’s physically possible, but somehow, you do, “It—I’m going to cum, I need to pull out—”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“<i>No</i>,” you howl, “No, I have—an implant—contraceptive,” you gasp, and the hand that was once around your face has slipped down, and he’s clawing at your throat, fingers ghosting off your skin. “Cum. Hard.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>He does. You both do. You think you pass out again. You’re going to need to have a very strict talk with your unconscious self about when and when not to appear, because this is getting ridiculous. He lays on top of you, gasping, both of you fitful and sweaty, covered in the day and each other. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Cyar’ika,” he whispers, his voice in shards, his cock still buried deep inside you, “I don’t think—I can—you’re going to keep me captive on this ship.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>You laugh, gasping against it. “I don’t think I ever want to hear you say—my real name again,” you say, inhaling air in spurts, chest still heaving. “Just that.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Deal,” he counters, burying his face in your neck. “Keep your eyes closed.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>As he pulls out, you whimper, both from the lack of him and the immediate sensation of being deprived, and when you hear the helmet hiss back into place, your eyes flutter open. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, and the sound of it through the modulator makes your heart shred itself. “Like—this. Always. Beautiful.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Thank you,” you manage, the strong, confused urge to cry somehow pulling from behind your eyes. “You are too.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Slowly, agonizingly, he helps you to your feet, still kneeling, and you push the cool metal of his helmet against your belly, trying to catch your breath. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“I need to shower,” you say, dreading it, but you can feel the humidity of the day still stuck to you, and you can feel his cum threatening to leak out of you, and he clings to your naked body. “I don’t want to.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Go,” he says, but how could you, with him clinging to you like that, “I’ll be here when you get out.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>The water’s warmth after his body on yours just doesn’t seem to cut it. It’s washing everything from Dagobah’s surface off you, the sweat, the grime, but you’re still so hollowed and blissed out from finally bearing everything to Din, body and soul, that you barely feel it. It’s something you try not to take for granted, because you’ve spent a fair share of your time in ships that didn’t have showers or on planets where you couldn’t find running water, but everything after <i>that</i> absolutely pales in comparison. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>You still can’t believe it. You’ve had sex a few times, once when you were still a teenager with someone you met in passing on the base, and with Jacterr three very regrettable times, but it had never felt like <i>this</i>. You were used to the feeling that you were just the last variable in the equation, where it was quick and fast and dirty, leaving you shaking and embarrassing in the light after they’d left, but with Din, it’s different. You aren’t just there for entertainment, for means to an end. You’re revered. Your body is, too. And something about the vulnerability of that, of belonging enough to someone to feel like every part of you was known by them, is still making you blush.</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>The soap you’d bought weeks ago, the lavender one, has basically dwindled down to nothing, so you lather up with his soap, too, the scent clean and warm. Your heart lurches as you pull the suds between your thighs and in every crevice where you got sweaty, remembering how his lips touched you, how he marked you as his. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>The fresher steams up the tiny room so fast, and when you get out, the mirror is completely fogged over. You wipe it clean, the tiny thing, staring at your warped reflection. You don’t look like yourself, or at least the version of yourself you’ve seen in the last decade, since your parents died, since you were roped into Jacterr’s darkness, since you’ve killed a man with your bare hands. It takes until a small smile dances across your face to realize that it’s because you’re happy. The years that have congealed along your frown lines, your tired forehead—all of them have been wiped clean. You poke gently at the scar on your tummy, flesh slightly puckered from the hot water, and realize that besides the bruises from the Crest’s crash landing, you aren’t aching right now. Even the dull one in your belly that you’d come to associate with sex isn’t there anymore, and while you think the hot shower may be part of that, you think it’s because of him, and the way he touches you, gentle, intentional. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>You’re <i>crazy</i> about him, you realize, clumsily dressing in the handful of clothes you brought into the tiny room with you, absolutely bonkers, head-over-heels. You fall easily. For as long as you can remember, you tumble into things headfirst with zero hesitations. Dangerous situations, helping people out, love, anything. You take the leap and don’t worry about the fall until you’re already on the ground. And the pieces of you that have calcified because of all your crashes, they’re loosening, pinking over after years of ache and sadness. You know you should be more careful, that you shouldn’t be running headfirst over cliffs anymore, but this life, this life with Din and the baby, this doesn’t feel like jumping. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>It feels like landing on your feet, intact, exactly where you’re supposed to be.</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Your inner monologue pulls you out of the room humming, small towel wrapped around your hair, spinning around until you’re caught, midair, by Din’s uncovered hands.</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Hi,” you whisper, eyes fluttering shut.</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Hi,” you hear, and it’s through the modulator, so you open them back up and gaze up at him. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>He’s still only in his underwear and the mask, and something roils deep and low inside you. You’re not sure if you’re allowed to let your eyes roam, so you just keep them fixated on the visor, until he guides your chin down and you let your hands wrap around his bare back. The scars that you’ve repaired, the one on his stomach, and then much more recent wound on his arm, are pink in the dark light of the Crest. You can’t see your own right now, but if you could, the healing would look the same. You match. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“I need to shower now,” he says, voice low and just as hesitant as yours was earlier. “Go lay in my bed while I’m in there.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Say no more,” you say, and he places his hands on your hips to swivel you around. “Wait—how’s the baby?”<br/>
Din pauses, eyes flicking up to where the ladder is. “He’s still asleep,” he answers, voice low. “I’ve seen him sleep for longer after doing less, so…there’s no need to worry.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Okay.” You start to push the button open to reveal his bed, but something in his tone stops you. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Right?” Din asks, and you hear just a glint of fear in it. Just for a second, but it’s thrumming underneath his words. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Right,” you reassure him, stepping closer, tracing your hand delicately over his collarbone. “No need to worry.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>His hand closes over yours before he disappears into the fresher, and you let yourself fall backward, splayed over on his bed. The sheets haven’t been disturbed, and it smells so much like him in here, clean and musk and metal, and you towel off the rest of your hair before you let it hang over the bar just outside the alcove. It’s small in here, still tight and cramped, but you can barely even notice when everything around you is filled with him. You hear the water turn on and him step in, the droplets hitting differently against the shower walls as he’s standing under it, interrupting the stream. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Din’s fast, in and out. You know that showering isn’t a luxury for him, it’s just a basic necessity. Sometimes, you want to pull him in yours with you and let him revel in the hot stream, but you know you can’t look at him and even if you could, part of you still thinks he’d resist after a whole lifetime of only seeing water as a source of getting clean. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>By the time you’ve flipped over the thought of the two of you in the fresher together, naked and wet, he’s joining you in the bed. As soon as he closes the alcove off from the rest of the Crest and plunges you both into darkness, you hear the hiss of the helmet disengaging, and then it’s placed somewhere out of reach. Silently, he pulls you against him, and you realize with a thrill that he’s still shirtless, and his big one you’re wearing has ridden up on your tummy so that you’re pressed up against him, skin to skin. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Thank you,” you whisper, after full seconds of silence, because you don’t know what else to say. “For…for being so gentle with me.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>He’s quiet for a long time, and then his fingers are in your damp hair, and you sigh, content. “I didn’t take my time with you, you know.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“I don’t think I would have lasted if you did,” you admit, pressing your cold nose up against the skin of his neck, and you can feel him chuckle under your touch. Your favorite sound is still the hiss of the helmet disengaging, but that laugh is a close second. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“I’m usually a man of my word.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Out of all the things to not keep a promise about,” you sigh, hooking your leg over his, “I’m okay with that not being one of them.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>His arm snakes around you, and you just lay there in bliss, reveling in the knowledge that you’re trusted enough to be this close to him, to be in this proximity, and you don’t think you’re ever going to get used to it. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“What did you see in that cave?” he asks, and you swallow, the memory of Jacterr’s hands on your shoulders cold and dark. “What scared you so badly earlier?”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Jacterr,” you whisper, barely. “He—I saw him, coming to kill me. I could feel his hands on me. Not yours,” you say, quickly, because you know Din’s going to try to counter that, “<i>his. They’re rough and gnarled from years of him getting into close scrapes, and I felt those as if he were right there. He <i>was</i>,” you shudder, “I could have sworn it. And then the ground gave out, like it literally just collided with me, and I was in the back of the shup my parents died in.” You swallow, trying not to cry. “I don’t know—how I saw that. It was one I’d never seen before, and they were shot down, and I got thrown out, right before they crash landed.” You squeeze your eyes shut. “And then,” you say, hollow, “I saw the baby—he was being yanked away from you, flying through the air. And before I could do anything, it was Jacterr again. Until it wasn’t. Until it was you.”</i></i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>His arm tightens around you. “What happened with him, cyar’ika?” His voice is so low. “Jacterr? How did he hurt you?” Your eyes pinprick with tears again, and you don’t want to tell the story, you don’t know if you can, but he’s asking, and he cares about you, and he’s so earnest. </i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>“We met on Coruscant,” you say, lowly, and the mention of the planet’s name still makes you nauseous. “It was only a few years after my parents died, and I was still pretty much a kid, just one with a huge ego and a hole inside of me that I determined the Alliance couldn’t ever fix. I went to Dantooine first after I left Yavin, picking up jobs and helping people run whatever they needed to across the galaxy. I got a reputation as a safe haven,” you say, smiling slightly against the memory, “which isn’t a real title. But anyone who ran in the same circles I did knew that it meant that I would help people, no questions asked, if they were trying to escape a bad situation. That’s how Jacterr got to me. He tricked me.”</i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>Din’s breathing is heavier, now, darker, and you press your fingertips against the skin of his shoulder in the dark. </i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>“At first,” you say, “it was the truth. He was trying to get away from his pyromaniac brother, trying to recover artifacts on his own terms instead of being associated with Merle. The Calicans were known in the circle of pilots that I fell into, and Merle had always scared me, so I took Jacterr at his word. I had landed on Coruscant to help a Cerean get back to her family, and I had ventured into Galactic City for some food and fuel to get me back to Dantooine. I went into a cantina, even though I’m not really a drinker, because I knew they’d have cheap food, and it was in a more populated area in a place that had largely been desecrated.” You swallow, ghosting your thumb over Din’s shoulder. “That’s where Jacterr found me. He was charismatic. Dangerous, but charismatic, and he offered me easy jobs for a good amount of money, and he had a much better ship than my old one, and I was young and eager with something to prove. He took me in, and he would let me pilot his ship while he was ransacking abandoned places for Jedi artifacts. It wasn’t the deal. He told me I’d just be helping him clean up artifacts he sourced from others, legally, fairly, but he started stealing. Then, soon after…a job went bad. On Coruscant. He killed a man.” You swallow again. “In cold blood, and he tried to tell me that it was self-defense, but he dropped him like it was nothing. <i>Not</i> like you do,” you interrupt yourself, “He did it just to prove he could. I flipped out on him. He didn’t like that.”</i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>“How did he hurt you,” Din interrupts, voice low and dangerous, and you shudder with the memory of the way he killed the man who was choking you on the Crest, months ago but still fresh in your mind. </i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>“It wasn’t bad at first,” you say, voice small. “He didn’t get violent with me for weeks. I just didn’t like him leaving the ship, because it always meant he came back with more blood on his hands, and more things stolen from people they belonged with. I couldn’t run. I tried.”</i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>Din’s jaw clenches against your forehead.</i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>“I tried. I knew a handful of people who returned to Coruscant fairly regularly, and I was just going to hide until I could find a pilot. But…I made a mistake. I returned to the cantina Jacterr found me in, and I ran right into Merle.” You bite your lip, and it makes contact with Din’s neck, just for a second, but long enough for the physical reminder that you’re safe here. “I recognized him. I heard from friends on Corellia how ruthless he was, how he pillaged and stole things and left villages in flames just because he wanted to. When I met him, that scar on his face was only under his eye, but he just kept burning things down and didn’t care that he got caught in the crossfire. I thought he was a friend.” You swallow. “He wasn’t. He dragged me screaming back to Jacterr, and…that’s when things got bad. I had to obey their rules, both of them, or I’d get kicked around. I flew them to places. I helped them ransack ancient temples, holy sites, just to get some metal that they could hock and sell. I didn’t have a <i>choice</i>,” you say, desperately, even though you know he thinks you’re kind, you’re pure, but you can’t stand the knowledge that you did what you did. “But…they had me fly them to the Jedi Temple. The ruins of it. No one’s supposed to go to that part of the city, it’s forbidden. A testament of what was lost. I refused to go in. So Merle bound me up and dragged me with them so I couldn’t run. At some point, Merle split from us, and I was alone with Jacterr in a room of rubble and artifacts. I was just—sitting there—bruised and broken and desperate, and I was going to just ask him to leave me to die there. But then I saw it,” you say, and your voice cracks. “Jacterr picked up the holster of a lightsaber, and he thought it was worthless because no blade ignited. He tossed it off into the rubble, but it was close—enough,” you manage. “To me. And it just…it flew into my hands. I can’t explain it. Even with them bound in front of me, I could ignite the blade. He turned around and I lunged at him, and he let me leave. I made it back to the edge of town, to an abandoned cantina, and I just hid, trying to get the cuffs off so that I could take the weapon and find a ship and <i>leave</i>.” </i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>“Cyar’ika—” Din says, and now the tears that have been threatening are leaking down your cheeks, and you’re horrified and hurt and everything feels too fresh. </i>
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      <i>“He found me,” you whisper, broken. “Somehow, he found me. He knocked the lightsaber away from me, and he dragged me through the entire bar, kicking me within an inch of my life.” Your breathing’s running raggedy. “I was almost relieved because I could just die, as horrible and embarrassing that kind of death would be. But then, he looked away, just for a second, and somehow, I got the lightsaber back. I wasn’t even trying to kill him,” you protest, against absolutely nothing, tears still running down your face, “just—stall him enough so I could get away again, but he lunged at me with his knife and I ignited the blade through his abdomen.”</i>
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      <i>Din’s breathing is tight and furious in the bed around you, and you cling as tight to him as you possibly can. </i>
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      <i>“He gave me this,” you say, hand brushing up against the puckered scar, “before the light left his eyes. I made sure he was dead, really dead, and then I just ran. I don’t know how I survived. I don’t even remember how I made it back to my ship, or how I made it off of Coruscant. I woke up in warp within an inch of my life and had to patch my wound up alone.”</i>
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      <i>“Your wounds,” he corrects, and your eyebrows furrow at the plurality of it. “I’m glad he’s dead.”</i>
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      <i>“Din,” you say, but his hand comes up and ghosts across your lips, and you fall into silence.</i>
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      <i>“I would have tortured him,” he says, lowly, and his voice is daker than you’ve ever heard it. “I would have flogged him within an inch of his life and poured salt into his wounds and only let him have mercy in death after an apology. One that he meant.”</i>
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      <i>“Din—” </i>
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      <i>“How am I different than he was?” he interrupts, and you feel like you’re knocked off your feet. </i>
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      <i>“<i>What</i>?” you ask, voice panicked, “you don’t—you don’t fucking <i>abuse</i> me, Din, you don’t knock me around when I question you—you don’t tie me up and leave me for dead—how could you—how could you even <i>think</i> you’re anywhere near what that man did to me?”</i>
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      <i>“I kill people,” he says, lowly, and your hands find his face. He tries to shake you loose, but you hold firm in your grip. “I’ve killed them in front of you. I’m—I’m not gentle, cyar’ika. I’m not… good.”</i>
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      <i>“<i>Stop</i>,” you say, trying to interrupt through tears. “Right now. I mean it. You know how it’s different with you? You make me quiet.” You swallow. “For years, after my parents died, after I met Jacterr, noise was the only thing that distracted me from that—fucking hulking silence. I would sing, I’d put the radio on while I slept, I’d sit for hours in cantinas without drinking a single thing because the noise put the weight of the world to sleep for just a second. I met you,” you whisper, digging your thumbs into the hollow of his cheeks, resting your forehead against his, “and you took me in. You saved me, and then you kept saving me, and you have never touched me once without my permission. You trust me to look after your kid, to keep your ship safe, to hold your bare face and kiss your lips. Before you,” you say, shakily, “I needed to drown everything else out.” You pause, making sure he hears the next part in as much clarity as possible. “You make me quiet,” you say again, in a voice not much louder than a whisper, “and before I met you, I didn’t think I could live without all that noise.”</i>
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      <i>He’s silent. </i>
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      <i>“You protect me,” you repeat, “I protect you back. Even if it’s from yourself. Give and take, that’s how this works. Okay?”</i>
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      <i>Din doesn’t move. It feels like forever when he finally nods against your forehead, and you exhale a breath you feel like you’ve been holding for years. </i>
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      <i>“Darasuum,” you whisper, a ghost of a thing, and in the darkness, Din’s lips rise up and meet yours. It’s you, this time. Saying it. Forever.</i>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>HOPE YOU LOVED IT!!!!! if you have any comments/questions/just wanna chat about it, i'll be hanging around here, tiktok (@ammaaay), and tumblr (https://www.tumblr.com/blog/amiedala) all night!!! i wanna hear all your thoughts!!</p><p>CHAPTER 12 WILL BE POSTED 7:30 PM, SATURDAY, MARCH 6TH!!!</p><p>xoxo, amelie</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Safe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“I’m so sorry, my love,” you say, not thinking about what you’re saying, “this is really gonna hurt, but I need to—”</p><p>“Do it,” he says, breath still so shaky. You’re terrified. “I’m—Do anything.” </p><p>You pull the cautery out, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves. You can do this. You did it on yourself with a lightsaber when you were within an inch of your life. You’ve flown from one end of the galaxy to the next. You killed your abuser, put him in a place where he’d never get to hurt you anymore. You can save the man you love.</p><p>Okay, you just admitted that you love him, and now the butterflies in your stomach are there for another reason. But now isn’t the time for a big romantic moment. You save him now. Romance comes later.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hope y'all love this chapter!! so much yearning :')</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It takes you a few hazy seconds tangled up in Din’s arms to recognize that the baby’s cooing somewhere just out of reach, and with the knowledge that he’s <i>awake</i>, you jolt up in bed, putting a hand over your eyes as you try your very best to make it out of the alcove without waking Din up and without smacking your head into something hard. You fall out a little quicker than intended, and when you stumble, you crash right into the baby’s egg. </p><p>He cackles, clapping his little hands together gleefully, and you heave out the biggest sigh of relief, picking him up and nuzzling him in close to your chest. “Hi, baby,” you say, and something familiar pinpricks at the corners of your eyes. You cradle his little fuzzy head, notching your jaw into the space between his big ears, spinning around and dancing with him in your arms. “How are you feeling, bug?”</p><p>You pull him away long enough to see his eyes fill up with light, and you breathe another sigh of relief. He looks better. He doesn’t even look tired anymore, energized and awake and not at all like he just saved the three of you from impending death. </p><p>“You saved us, you know,” you say, sitting him down in his cradle and pulling him along with you as you fix him some food, rations that turn into a bowl of slop that he just adores for some inexplicable reason. “From a big, scary crash.” He looks up at you as you stir the mixture, and then you push it into his hands, letting him lap away at it. You yawn, pulling your messy hair atop your head, tucking the loose bits behind your ears. “You’re awfully strong, sweetness.”</p><p>The baby coos.</p><p>“Thank you,” you say, squatting down so you’re at eye level with him. “That was really scary for me, and I can imagine it was really scary for you, too. I’m very glad you were there, bug.”</p><p>He looks up at you, big eyes full of feeling, and he pinches his little fingers together. You look down, realizing he’s grasping at your necklace, and you move closer, letting him play with the Rebel insignia for a second. His eyes are still full of radiance and acknowledgment and love, and you touch your forehead to his for a second, trying your best to channel every single cell in your body to tell him how thankful you are for him and his magic, and he lets you hold him there, just for a second, but when you break apart, you know he knows. You can feel it. </p><p>The alcove shoots open, and you’ve already closed your eyes on instinct, but Din’s helmet is already on. He walks over to the baby, places a spoon in his hands, and then draws you in. He’s not fully armored, yet, and you soak in every single inch of him that you can before he eventually pulls away to survey the baby. </p><p>“Hey, kid,” he says, and his voice is low and quiet, and you move off to clean up where you prepared the baby’s food to give him and his father a little space. “Thank you for saving us back there. Did you have a good sleep?”</p><p>The baby coos. </p><p>“Good,” Din says, and then, without any indication he’s moved, he’s up behind you. “I need you to go check the navigation upstairs.” </p><p>You sigh, because his arm is around your waist and you’re pressed up against him, and the <i>last</i> thing you want to do is leave, but you rise up the ladder, and you can feel his gaze on your ass as you ascend it. You hoist yourself up and then walk over to the nav system, rubbing sleep from the corners of your eyes. </p><p>“It’s on,” you call down to Din, “and blinking. We’re on Dagobah, and it is…charting a course to our next planet?”</p><p>“Good,” comes the voice through the modulator, and you nod to the empty hull. “Does anything change when I do this?”</p><p>You hear a bleep, and then the little pixel of the Crest is flying through the electronic panel to Trandosha. You call the name down to Din, stumbling through the unfamiliar word, and he confirms it. </p><p>“I’m coming up,” he says, and you sit down in the pilot’s seat, spinning around to face him while his head pokes through the floor. “Oh, you shouldn’t have done that.”</p><p>“Why?” you ask, and he walks over to you, hand lifting your chin up. Everything in you goes starry and gorgeous. “Are you gonna fight me for this seat, Mandalorian?”</p><p>“Oh, no,” he says, and then he’s picking you up by your hips like it’s absolutely <i>nothing</i>, and you yelp as he slings you over his shoulder. Before you can react, he’s setting you down—gently, with the control of a professional—and you’re back in your own chair. “That wouldn’t be fair to you.”</p><p>You open your mouth in fake shock as the baby makes his way up to you, crawling up on your leg until you swing him on your lap. “I’ll have you know I am an <i>excellent</i> fighter.” </p><p>“Cyar’ika,” he sighs, and you shake your head at him, trying to ignore how it still pulses inside you, trying to get yourself back in the game, “unless the word pilot comes after that, I’m afraid you’re a liar.” </p><p>“I could beat you,” you say, bumping fists with the baby, lying through your teeth, “wanna find out?”</p><p>Din looks back at you as he expertly maneuvers the ship out of the swamp you were so sure would be your death just hours beforehand, the showoff. “If we can find another ship on the next planet that’s safe,” he says, “I’ll let you try to shoot me out of the sky. But I’m not fighting you,” he warns, punching the Crest into warp, “there’s plenty of better things your hands can do instead.”  </p><p> </p><p>The Mid Rim is…different. The whole handfuls of sectors that collect in the Outer Rim are pulsing, a constant. No matter where you travel, planets come up on the periphery, reminders that there’s other worlds with people and living things just beyond your reach. But out here, space seems desolate. Lonely. You’ve spent your entire life out in the stars, traveling from world to world, and you feel more comfortable out in space than you do on planets, most of the time, but there’s something dark and unsettling about the Mid Rim. </p><p>You’re dreading Din leaving again. You know he has to; you know that there’s a bounty out here, but you don’t want him to. You’re being selfish, and you know it, but every time one of you leaves the ship, there’s a scrape too close to call. Even after the crash on Dagobah, even after being terrified that the Crest would be your death, you still regard it as home. Safe. In the giant bone crush of space, this place is a haven. </p><p>“Hey.” </p><p>You look up. Din’s swiveled his chair around to see you, and the baby is sound asleep in your lap. You smile at him, stroking one of the baby’s ears. “Hi.”</p><p>“What are you thinking about?” he asks, slowly getting up, moving the kid off your lap and placing him gently in his crib. Silently, he offers his hand out, and you take it, letting his gravity pull you upward, a counterbalance. </p><p>“I’ve never been this far out here,” you admit, gesturing at the space around you, the moons that seem to eclipse entire planets. “It’s a little strange.” </p><p>Din leads you up closer to the navigation system, standing behind you as you look out at the stars. “The Mid Rim is more desolate,” he agrees, wrapping a metal-laden arm around your waist. “The planets aren’t nearly as civilized. Some are dark holes, others are more peaceful worlds. Sometime, I’ll take you to Kashyyyk.” </p><p>You tip your head back against his breast plate, trying in vain to tip your head up to see the helmet, but he’s so tall, and you just sigh and let yourself be held. “What’s on Kashyyyk?”</p><p>“Forests,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “A planet full of trees.”</p><p>“Mm,” you answer, lulled, “I love the forest.”</p><p>“I know,” he says, and then he’s spinning you around to face him. “I know what you like, cyar’ika.”</p><p>“Do you,” you say, smile stretched wide across your face. “Elaborate.”</p><p>“Forests,” he says, sighing, moving his arms down to encircle your waist. “The kid. Your necklace. Being out in the stars, which you prefer to being anchored to one place. Fruit. The Alliance, and the friends you made in it, even though you’ve kept your distance since you’ve left.” </p><p>You blink slowly, burning pyre in your stomach igniting at how observant he is. “What else?”</p><p>“Singing.” His gloved hands finds yours. “Humming songs from different cultures to the kid. You like showering, and you spend lots of time in the fresher just to enjoy it. You like my soap, you like telling me to sleep more than you like sleeping yourself, and you like being called cyar’ika.”</p><p>You grin. “I’d be done for if I were your bounty,” you say, and you can hear his sharp intake of breath through the mask. “You know me too well. You’d know where I’d hide.”</p><p>“You’d like me finding you,” Din says, finally, but there’s something deeper in his voice, and his grip tightens on you just a little, protective. </p><p>“Only because you wouldn’t freeze me in carbonite,” you grin. “You’d find me irresistible, charming, and…you couldn’t turn me in to Karga.”</p><p>“Why should Karga get you?” he asks, darkly, and then he’s sitting, and you’re pulled into his lap, facing him, entirely captive in his grip. </p><p>“I’d be worth something,” you manage, faintly, as his hand starts trailing up your back. “Lots of credits. You could buy a whole new ship with how much you’d get for me.”</p><p>“Who needs a new ship? I have you on this one.” </p><p>“Din—” </p><p>“I’d find you,” he says, darkly, and your breath hitches as he runs a gloved finger down the outline of your throat, “and then I’d keep you.”</p><p>“For how long?” you manage, long past teasing, just wanting him to say <i>forever</i> again.</p><p>“Close your eyes,” he interrupts, and you do, eyelashes fluttering a few times before they seal shut. When he’s sure they’re closed for good, you hear the hiss of the helmet disengaging, and then his lips are against your throat, tongue tracing down the places where his fingers just left. “You know the answer to that already, cyar’ika.” </p><p>You do. It hums low inside you. In this universe or the next, he’d find you, and he’d keep you here, on the ship, in this life, all of it. You can’t believe you ever thought that he didn’t feel the pull between you two, the universe’s grand magic magnetizing the both of you together. It seems impossible as he licks at your throat, hand clasped gently around the back of your neck, keeping you tucked against his mouth. You’re sitting in his lap, completely unmoored, body slumped against his as he holds you there against him, your entire body a live wire. </p><p>You’re not sure how long it lasts, how long you float through space with Din biting tiny love marks into you, but you want to stay in the moment forever. It feels like maybe hours, maybe days, who knows, maybe a millennia. Maybe when you’ll open your eyes again, the baby will be able to speak multiple languages and you’ll both be old and gray. But something is beeping at the dashboard, because the Razor Crest has always made it its own personal mission to interrupt the two of you whenever you’re just on the edge of getting going, and you press your fingers to your closed eyes as Din’s helmet clicks into place. </p><p>“You can open them,” he says, voice modulated, timbre so different from where he just was, and you do, sighing. “Shit.”</p><p>“What’s wrong?” You’re still perched on his lap, shirt ridden up from where his gloves leeched underneath the fabric, and he slides his hand back down behind you, stopping against the small of your back. You can see your eyes reflected in the visor, big and needy, and he sighs up at you. </p><p>“My bounty is moving,” he says, darkly, “and quickly. Dank ferrik. We need to jump into warp and I’m going to need to leave the second we touch down.” </p><p>Your heart sinks. “Is this one dangerous?”</p><p>You get jostled, a little, when Din punches into warp, and then his hands find your hips and he cinches down on them so that you don’t get thrown as the ship lurches into hyperspace. </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>You bite your lip, looking at the visor, eyes hovering right where you think his are. “You usually tell me you can handle them, you know.” </p><p>“I know,” Din says, and for a second, you think that’s all he’s going to allow, and you cock your head at him. “I can handle him, cyar’ika.” </p><p>“But?”</p><p>He sighs, and your heart sinks again. “But…the next few bounties are going to be tough catches. I might have to leave for longer. There…there’s going to be longer stretches of time where you’ll have to be on the ship alone with the baby. You have to promise me you won’t go out into Trandosha.”</p><p>You look at him, afraid. You want to hold his face. You want to do a lot of things, but he’s holding yours, so gentle, when he usually spends the time before he leaves distancing himself from you so he can get used to the distance. “The food supply—” </p><p>“You have plenty,” he says, “I bought extra the last time we refueled, before Dagobah.” </p><p>The Crest is starting to break the planet’s atmosphere now, and that isolation that swallowed you up back in space feels tame compared to Trandosha’s surface. It looked like a darkened Coruscant from a distance, but once you touched down in the middle of nowhere, it just seemed lonely. Dangerous, but lonely. </p><p>“Be careful,” you say, “and keep your commlink on. Please.” Your voice is wheedling, pleading, but you don’t care. </p><p>Din’s quiet, as he gently pulls you off him so he can get up and start to head down the ladder. He squeezes your hand as he looks over the baby sleeping in his cradle, and then he looks back at you. </p><p>“Close your eyes,” he says, and you do. The helmet disengages, just for a second, and then his lips are on yours, his hands gloved but warm wrapped around your face. You cling to him, the taste of him, toothpaste and metal and cinnamon and smoke, before he abruptly pulls away. Just for a second before the helmet is back on again, you see the outline of his lips in the dark, a mustache cresting over the top one, more groomed than you imagined it would, and you have to suppress your gasp and your guilt at catching a glimpse of him before he gave you permission.</p><p>“Be safe out there,” you manage, voice half broken over the knowledge of it, and he rests his hand on your face for just a second before he turns for the ladder. </p><p>“Cyar’ika?” he says, and you watch him disappear through the hole in the floor.</p><p>“Yeah?</p><p>“Don’t leave the ship.” </p><p>You hear the gangplank disengage before you can collect yourself, fingers ghosting over the impression he left on your lips, and you lift your wrist to the commlink. “Come back safe.” </p><p> </p><p>Your fingers are still on your lips. Every time you close your eyes, it’s just an imprint of the last thing you saw before Din’s helmet came back down. His mouth, soft and plush, the mustache coasting over his upper lip, small and groomed and gorgeous. His hair’s dark. You’ve kind of always imagined it to be dark, from the few times you’ve been lucky enough to run your bare fingers through it. Partially, that image was because it was always in the blackness of the Crest around you, but something about his features have always seemed lush and warm to you. With the little glimpse of the bottom third of his face, another assumption floating dangerously at the forefront of your mind. </p><p>You think he has brown eyes. You can’t be certain, but with the confirmation that his facial hair is dark, you can imagine them, two reflecting pools, staring back into yours. It does flips in your tummy, thrills you warmly and deeply. You’ve collected yourself in his pilot’s seat, trying to conjure the feeling of him just underneath you, his hands tracing constellations through your hair and down the small of your back. It’s only been a handful of hours, and that black pit inside of you that always gnawing as soon as he leaves the ship is already back in full force, hungry and alive.</p><p>“Hey,” you say into the commlink, the soft red light blinking up at you as you bite your lip. “What’s your favorite color?”</p><p>It takes him a while to answer. When he does, you can hear his breath, more present through the modulator than it usually is. You splay yourself back in the chair, oscillating from the dashboard to the copilot’s seat, watching the baby sleep in his leg. “Green.”</p><p>“Because of the kid?”</p><p>“Is the kid green?” he asks, and you giggle. “Hadn’t noticed.”</p><p>“A Mandalorian just told a <i>joke</i>,” you tease. “Has it always been green?”</p><p>“As long as I’ve known him,” Din says, easily, and you giggle again. </p><p>“Your favorite color,” you respond, through laughter, “silly.”</p><p>“I’ve never really thought about color,” he responds, after a minute. The farther he gets from the ship, the more the commlink crackles. It’s probably because of how limited the technology is on this sector of the planet, but it still rumbles uneasily in the pit of your stomach. “Until…Have you?”</p><p>“I like green,” you concede, finger finding the insignia on your necklace. “Because of the baby, partly, but also because…I like the forest.”</p><p>“Did you grow up in the trees?” he asks, and the commlink crackles again. “On Yavin?”</p><p>“Yes,” you whisper, pulling the necklace out so it catches in the low light. “Where the base was…we were hidden between the trees. The base itself was subterranean, but we were always outside. Especially as kids. I…” you trail of, lost in the memory of it for a second, “I was really good at flying the X-Wing in the greenery. It got me in trouble sometimes, but the kids loved to watch it explode into the sky from nowhere.” You smile. “The baby would love it there.”</p><p>Static crackles. </p><p>“Din?” you ask, urgently. </p><p>“I’m here,” he says, but his voice is faraway. </p><p>“I miss you,” you admit, lowly, your eyes squeezed shut. Stars, all you can see is that lower corner of his face. You feel so guilty at your glimpse, you want to tell him that you didn’t mean to. It’s doing cartwheels in the pit of your stomach. “But…um…I like green too. But,” you say, biting your lip, “…I’m liking brown these days. A lot.” You know you’re pushing it. But with him gone, you’re finding it easier and easier to be brazen.</p><p>“Cyar’ika,” he says, but the word sounds different. He sounds like it’s hurting him to be out there, away from you. “You… promise me—stay on the ship.” </p><p>He cuts out, almost completely. “What?”</p><p>“Stay on the ship,” he repeats, and then there’s more static, and then noise in the background you can convince yourself is gunfire if you try hard enough. Your heart is hammering. </p><p>“Din,” you hiss, to the darkness of the hull, suddenly cold. “Are you—?”</p><p>“’M okay,” he cuts back in, voice quiet. “Gotta go. I’ll call when I can—” And then the commlink cuts out completely, with nothing but the dark interior of the ship, the sleeping baby, and your galloping heartbeat to keep you company. </p><p> </p><p>You can’t help it. You wake the baby up.</p><p>It isn’t your best move, you admit, waking up a sleeping child to atone for the fact that his father’s out there on a dark planet, completely alone, just so that you can distract yourself, but oh well. You’re not a perfect person. You crank up the radio, balancing the volume between quiet enough to hum to and loud enough to sing to, checking the air locks every time your voice gets too loud. The stations out here are all in other languages, ones you don’t know, but you can make up your own words as you balance the baby on your hip and dance around the small, unencumbered circle right outside of the fresher and Din’s bed, letting the kid warble along to your invented melody. </p><p>He mumbles something, adorable green gibberish, and you ball up your fist into a faux microphone and hover it gently just under his little mouth. He looks up at you in utter glee, and you decide to comment on his nonsensical babbling like you’re a talk show host, which he thinks is the funniest thing in the galaxy. </p><p>“Today, folks,” you narrate as he babbles, “we’re met with the mysterious wonder wielder of the Force himself, and—what’s that?”</p><p>The kid nods his little head to accentuate his gibberish, and you bump your fist against his tiny one. </p><p>“Absolutely correct,” you say, whirling around, “we’re so honored you could spend your time with us, today, baby. Thank you for your infinite wisdom and your jokes. Oh, what’s that?”</p><p>He looks up at you, giggle melodic and pure at the back of his throat, and you tip your forehead against his, smiling at the whole of it. “Next week, we’ll learn how to steal little metal balls from our fathers with yours truly. See you then.” </p><p>As if on command, the baby holds his fingers up, squeezing his little eyes almost to a close.</p><p>“Oh, no,” you sigh, and then pop your head up the ladder, holding the baby in one arm. You can’t find the metal ball that pops off the joystick, the one he’s so adamant on playing with that it slipped into your fake narration, and you can’t find it. When you return back on the floor of the lower half, the kid has it in his hand, and as you smile at him, he makes it levitate, just a little bit, but enough to make you lose your grip on the ladder and slip sideways. When you’ve regained yourself, you slide down to sit on the floor in the collection of blankets that used to be your bed, watching the baby as he makes the ball float in the air, big bug eyes screwed up in concentration. </p><p>“How do you do that?” you ask, forgetting he can’t answer, can’t give you an explanation. Your voice makes him falter, just for a second, and you hold your palm up like his is, trying to feel the energy that courses through his tiny body, trying to harness something you’re not even sure that you possess. You don’t know what happened in that cave back on Dagobah, but you know that when Din walked in, he couldn’t see—or feel—anything that you did. You remember, with a jolt, that Jacterr couldn’t make the blade ignite on the lightsaber back on Coruscant, and Merle held the holster up, completely lightless, on Dantooine. But you had been able to make the thing fly across the room and land in your hand. You had escaped battles in the stars that you shouldn’t have. You could feel Jacterr in that cave, and you could feel your parents’ screams ricochet through you when you died, enough that you didn’t even need word from their general on Yavin to know that they were gone—</p><p>You snap your eyes shut, curling your knees up to your chest. That’s something that you hadn’t admitted to anyone, not even yourself, not since you were a teenager. You weren’t anywhere near where their cruiser went down, parsecs away, in fact, but you <i>felt</i> it. And in the cave, you knew it was happening, so vivid that you transported yourself there. That wasn’t normal. Something made of supersonic energy, something that you’d only heard of in stories…until you met the kid.</p><p>Slowly, your eyes open back up, and watch as the baby’s concentration breaks, ball falling to the floor as he rushes towards you. You don’t realize you’re crying until his stubby little fingers are trying to wipe away your tears. </p><p>“I’m okay, bug,” you say, softly, trying to calm the hurricane in your chest. “Really, I’m okay.”</p><p>He reaches for your necklace, and you prop his body up on your knees so he can hold it in the tiny palm of his hand. </p><p>“Yes,” you manage. “I’m thinking about my parents again.” </p><p>He cocks his head again, big ears lifted in recognition. </p><p>“I miss them,” you admit. “Every day. I…meant it, you know. What I said all those weeks ago, that I have a new family now.” You touch your forehead against his. “And I love it. You,” you say, the words barely air, “but I miss my parents, my old life…too.”</p><p>Something impossible in the way he’s looking at you tells you that somehow he understands. There’s something wizened and ancient that lives past the childlike wonder in his big bug eyes, and you hold your finger up for him to mirror. He just grabs onto it, reassuring in his innocent kindness, and you pull him in tight against you for what feels like hours, hoping he can feel how much he means to you in the wordless dark around you. </p><p> </p><p>You hear your name through the darkness. Your neck hurts, stiff and cramped from where it’s been resting against the wall, uncomfortable compared to the warm man you’ve spent most of your nights pressed up against. You rub sleep from the edges of your eyes, trying to find the source of it. It takes until the word’s repeated that you realize you’re meant to answer it, and just as long to find the source. Your wrist. </p><p>“Hi,” you say, urgently, stretching your neck. “Are you okay—”</p><p>“Relax,” Din’s voice is so much clearer than it was earlier. “I’m a professional.”</p><p>“Yes,” you agree, sleepily, “very much a big, bad, professional bounty hunter, that’s you. However,” you barely stifle your yawn, “ever since you came back to the ship with a bullet in your side, I worry about you out there.” </p><p>He sighs, but it’s all air, and you smile softly against the darkness. “This planet’s a shithole.” </p><p>You sink back down to the floor, sleep tugging at you again now that you know he’s safe. “Tell me about it. I can’t even leave the ship, it’s so bad.”</p><p>“Hey,” he says, and now he sounds like he’s chastising you. “I don’t think—I know you’re smart on your feet, cyar’ika, but it’s dangerous out here.” </p><p>“I know,” you whisper, guilt burning at your cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m not going to, you know. Leave the ship.”</p><p>“I know.” He’s still quiet, and you want to ask him why he’s so insistent this time around, but you don’t want to push him. “Were you sleeping?”</p><p>“Mm,” you nod, pulling the blanket up over you and the sleeping baby, who nuzzles his way up against you. “It’s not so fun without you.” </p><p>“Tell me about it,” he says. You’re teetering on the edge of sleep again, even though you’re trying to fight it. He’s here, he’s on the line with you, and you don’t want to give into slumber when you don’t know how long he’ll be gone this time. “I know the bounty.” </p><p>Now you’re awake. “Is that why—?”</p><p>“Yes,” he interrupts, voice short, electric. “He’s…one from my old life. Before you. Long before the kid, even. We used to work together, sometimes, but he’s dangerous. Evasive. Even by my standards.”</p><p>“You’ll get him,” you reassure him, finger finding your necklace in the dark. </p><p>“It’s not me I’m worried about,” he says, darkly, and your breath hitches. “He knows what the Crest looks like. I…I parked sectors away, on the edge of the abandoned city, to disguise it. Just in case. I’m going to be a few days. He’s dodgy.” </p><p>You can’t tell if it’s your sleepy head talking, but the coherence of Din’s sentences aren’t the best you’ve ever heard them. “Everything’s locked,” you whisper. “Tight. And I have my blaster. And the kid, who saved the whole Crest from a crash landing, so the odds are in our favor here.” </p><p>“I killed his brother,” Din says, lowly. “Before I met you. I…I didn’t keep the best company. Do you…remember the Twi’lek?”</p><p>Your stomach flips over, then churns, uncomfortably. “How could I forget her.” </p><p>“She was…one of them,” Din admits. His voice is halted. Not like he’s being hesitant in revealing it, but like he’s trying to tread carefully. “My old crew. Dangerous. Commanding. I don’t get intimidated easily, but she got under my skin quick, and stayed there.”</p><p>“Din,” you try, jealousy a roiling monster inside you, but he interrupts. </p><p>“Like a parasite,” he spits, and even through the modulator, even through the commlink, you can hear the venom in his voice. “She…there was a lot about myself I didn’t like when I was with them, but it was always the worst with her. I didn’t realize how deep I was in until I was halfway out. It was tough, getting away from them. Even for me.”</p><p>“But you did it,” you whisper. </p><p>“Barely.” He sighs. “I got roped back in, soon after I found the kid. An old friend—so I thought—gave me work. That was this bounty’s brother. Ran Malk,” he says, darkly. “He double-crossed me for screwing the old crew over when I left, and had me join a mission with his new contracts…and Xi’an.” Something about the way his voice sounds when he says it makes it clear that’s the Twi’leks’s name. “It didn’t go well. We were on a prison ship, and the team tried to capture me. I locked them all up instead, took Xi’an’s brother captive, and left him with Malk. When I left them, the Republic was closing in on them.”</p><p>“That sounds fair,” you manage, shifting against the cold metal of the ship. “They screw you, you screw them back.”</p><p>“Cyar’ika,” he whispers, and you strain your ears in the darkness. “I’m not proud of any of it. Except for leaving. But this bounty, Malk’s brother, he’s dangerous. Dangerous like Xi’an was. She escaped, somehow, and landed on Jakku. He’s slippery like she is. I’m…I’m not happy I had to leave you there, unprotected.”</p><p>“You have his whereabouts,” you remind him, even though fear is swelling up in your belly. “He’s not going to hurt me, Din.”</p><p>He’s silent for a long time. “You should sleep,” he says, finally.</p><p>“Not until you do,” you insist, but your eyes are slowly closing despite your best attempts to stop them. </p><p>“Sleep,” he wheedles, and you obey, curling up against the kid and wishing with all your heart his father was there with you. </p><p> </p><p>It’s been another handful of days. He’s checked in with you, in and out, always fleeting, always choppy. You’ve felt lonely on the Crest before, but this is a whole new animal. It would be different if you could lower the gangplank and breathe in the air around you, stretch your legs a little bit, but Din’s never been this adamant about you staying put before, and you know he’s scared of you running into any kind of trouble out there. You trust him. More than anything, you trust hm, so even though you’re bored out of your mind, you don’t dare taking the air locks off for even a second. </p><p>You’ve run through your entire wheelhouse of songs, now, and the baby still wants more. You hum the same tired melodies to lull him into sleep, and then you go and lay in Din’s bed, even though it’s nearly impossible to get comfortable in there without him. You miss him. So much. You’ve never felt this kind of yearning deep inside you before, the universe’s great cosmic connection pulsing and aching in places you didn’t know you could miss someone. You’ve almost forgotten the contours of his voice, how it rumbles when he calls you cyar’ika, how warm his skin is up against yours, the way he smells, his hands eclipsing your face. You cradle yourself at night, pretending desperately that Din’s right there next to you, trying anything to coax him back to the ship. </p><p>It’s been almost a full week before you hear from him again. </p><p>“Cyar’ika.” </p><p>You gasp, fingers fumbling around the commlink. “I’m here. Maker, it’s good to hear your voice—” </p><p>“I’m coming back,” he says, voice short, clipped. Your heart sinks. He sounds exhausted, beaten down into the ground. “Hide.”</p><p>“How close are you,” you manage, and he doesn’t say anything back. You grab the baby and his egg, trying your best to clean up the floor of the ship and get into someplace safe before the air locks hiss in opening.</p><p>You aren’t fast enough. You’ve been able to shove the baby into Din’s bed, and you’re about to close yourself in there, too, but then the gangplank descends, and you thumb the blaster on your hip shakily, trying to get your bearings. The man who enters the gangplank looks dangerous. His skin is yellowed and sun-weathered, his teeth sharp and dangerous. His hair is long and grey, and you hate the way he’s sizing you up. You hate it even more when you see that he doesn’t have handcuffs on, and every second that passes grows scarier and scarier when you realize Din isn’t right behind him.</p><p>“So <i>you’re</i> who Mando’s been traveling with recently,” he leers, and you pull your gun out. Your hand is still shaking, but it’s not just because a strange man is on your ship in the middle of a dangerous planet—the way he’s smiling at you is exactly how Jacterr would before you got a fist in your face. </p><p>“Sure am,” you retort, snapping the safety off. “And you are?”</p><p>“He used to run with me,” the man says, walking closer to you. “Wish <i>you’d</i> run with me, though.”</p><p>“Keep dreaming,” you say, leveling the blaster at where his heart is. He’s getting so close. You don’t want to take your eyes off him, but you can’t help the way they’re flickering at the empty night in front of the gangplank, heart flipping circles in your chest. Din said he was close to being back—you hadn’t imagined that, right?—and there’s no sign of him. Something inside you tells you this is the bounty he’s been hunting for nearly two full weeks, and he’s <i>nowhere</i> to be seen. </p><p>“Be careful with me, pretty little thing,” he sneers, stepping closer to you, and you cock the gun level with his chest. You should be terrified. Logically, you are, but you’ve also learned how to handle the creeps. And you’re a pretty good shot when your adrenaline has kicked in and you’re not boxed into a corner, and he’s standing right near the carbonite freezer. </p><p>“No,” you say, emboldened. “Be careful with <i>me</i>, you piece of shit.” Your eyes flutter to the left of the quarry’s head, just for a second, and a beskar helmet materializes from the fog. You emit a sigh of relief, and right as the bounty lunges towards you, gnarled hands outstretched for your bare skin, your knee comes up <i>hard</i> between his legs and you knock the side of his head with your blaster. It’s enough to knock him off kilter, and you press the gun against his temple, kicking him back into the carbonite. </p><p>Din collapses as the bounty freezes. Okay, now you’re scared, and you fight back your own tendency to sink into the floor to run towards him. He’s absolutely filthy, dirt and mud caked over the beskar, and you pull him onto the ship enough to close the gangplank. He’s not breathing. You slam on his chest, fingers trying to find his heartbeat. </p><p>“Wake up,” you say, suddenly through tears, “you gotta wake up, Din—”</p><p>“”m stabbed,” he says, and you see the laceration leaking blood from his back. You fight back your gasp, rolling him on his side. It looks infected. You grit your teeth, pulling the muddied metal off of him. “’s bad, cyar’ika—”</p><p>“I told you,” you interrupt, voice shaking, “I know when a wound needs cauterizing, remember?”</p><p>His breath is shallow, and he’s barely moving, but he nods. </p><p>“Now is that time,” you say, fumbling with the medbay behind you. “I’m so sorry, my love,” you say, not thinking about what you’re saying, “this is really gonna hurt, but I need to—”</p><p>“Do it,” he says, breath still so shaky. You’re terrified. “I’m—Do anything.” </p><p>You pull the cautery out, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves. You can do this. You did it on yourself with a lightsaber when you were within an inch of your life. You’ve flown from one end of the galaxy to the next. You killed your abuser, put him in a place where he’d never get to hurt you anymore. You can save the man you love.</p><p><i>Okay</i>, you just admitted that you love him, and now the butterflies in your stomach are there for another reason. But now isn’t the time for a big romantic moment. You save him now. Romance comes later. </p><p>“I’m gonna clean the wound first,” you say, steeling yourself. Your eyes fly open, and he’s rolled over on his side enough that you can do it. You pour some of the alcohol into some gauze, trying your best to tread lightly as he winces and groans. He’s crushing the bones of your other hand, but you don’t even care, because as long as he’s squeezing, he’s distracted from the pain. You take a shaky breath, pressing your mouth to the cleaned area, right above where he’s cut. It’s bad. It’s <i>really</i> bad, and it looks like he’s been bleeding for a while. “I’m sorry,” you manage, trying your best to sound transactional, casual. You bite down on your lip as you brace yourself up on your knees, bringing the scalding tip of the cautery down on his beautiful, tan skin. </p><p>He’s screaming, through the helmet. You can hear it, and you know how white hot the pain of the burn is, and you’re crying along with him. It’s the worst sound in the whole world, but it’s made infinitely worse by the knowledge that this was at your hands. After a very agonizing minute, the wound is closed—not prettily, but sustainable—and you pull the cautery away, holding onto his neck to feel his heartbeat flutter and trying to blink back tears. </p><p>“Breathe,” you say, a prayer more than a command, and as if he’s resuscitated by your request alone, he does. It’s still shallow, but now that his wound is cleaned and closed, you can feel it slowly start to regulate as you lay on the floor of the Crest beside him, trying to control your hammering heartbeat. “Keep breathing, Din.”</p><p>He does. After it starts to even out, you take the gauze and the alcohol and clean every dirty spot on his skin you can reach. He’s quiet, and so are you. You’re glad the baby’s asleep in his dad’s bed, because he’d be a wreck right now if his little green body were anywhere near this mess. </p><p>Din shoots up. You immediately strongarm him back to the floor, clumsily because he’s so much bigger than you are, and because he’s still splayed out half on his stomach, turned over at his hips, and he thuds dangerously at the floor of the Crest, suddenly shouting through the helmet. </p><p>“Hey,” you say, and you grip either side of the helmet like you’re cupping his bare face. “Relax—” </p><p>“The bounty,” he grits out, and you shake your head at him, hair falling loose in your face from where you had halfheartedly thrown it up before he returned to the ship. “He—” </p><p>“I got him,” you reassure him, pointing a shaky finger at the carbonite bay. “He’s frozen. I kicked him pretty good before the freeze got him, too, so he’ll be hurting when he wakes up back on Nevarro.” </p><p>“You—?”</p><p>“I got him,” you repeat, trailing a hand down his dirty armor. “He’s not a threat to you anymore.”</p><p>The helmet thumps against the floor, just a tiny bit, but enough to realize that he’s been keeping it engaged and up, and you can hear the way he breathes better when he’s relaxed. “Thank you. You’re pretty—scary when you want to be, cyar’ika.”</p><p>“I’m no big bad bounty hunter,” you say, rolling your eyes playfully at him, “the Guild wouldn’t accept me. But I can…” you swallow, looking down at him, hand resting against his dirty chest. “I can protect what’s mine.” </p><p>He’s staring at you. You can feel it, even under the helmet, but you’re not scared. You belong to him, he belongs to you—it’s an unspoken vow, but one that’s as vibrant and real as either of you. You just smile softly down at him, waiting for him to speak. </p><p>“Sleep here with me,” he says, finally, “please.” </p><p>You look down at him. “You’re filthy.”</p><p>“Dirt’s never bothered you before,” he says, and groans through the modulator, and something about the way he says it rockets right between your thighs. You kick yourself. Now is not the time. </p><p>“I <i>don’t</i> care,” you allow, “but you’ve just spent two weeks on Trandosha’s grimy surface, and you have a nasty knife wound, and your armor is practically drenched in dirt. I need to—can I undress you?”</p><p>“Don’t have to ask,” he slurs, and you look down at him. </p><p>“I’m just going to remove what’s dirty,” you say, gently, even though all you want is him, you need to take care of him first. “You can even fall asleep, if you want. I’ll be quiet and gentle, and then I’ll lay right down here with you and hold you all night. But if there’s any other places where you’ve been hurt…I need to find them now and clean them, so they don’t get infected.” </p><p>“You’re good at this,” Din manages, finally, as you start to gently remove the plates of armor adorning his entire body, pulling free muddied cloth and brushing away the caked dirt that tumbles onto the floor of the Crest. “You’re—you take good care of me.”</p><p>You look down at him, wishing you could run your fingers through his hair. His dark hair, you startle with the memory of, and your heart butterflies around in your stomach. You forgot that you got a slice of his face, and even though it was completely unintentional, guilt billows up again. You swallow. “You make it easy,” you admit, softly, getting down to the last plate of armor, running your fingers across the fabric of his clothes, making sure that nowhere else leaves your fingers dirtied with blood. </p><p>“Cyar’ika,” he sighs, and even through the modulator, you can hear his voice tremble. “I—wouldn’t have made it out of there. Without you.” </p><p>Your heart collides with something soft and dangerous again, but you swallow it down. “You’ve survived plenty of danger without me. You would have made it back to the ship—”</p><p>“You protect me back,” he says, dazed, and you don’t understand what he’s insinuating until a hand flutters behind his head to the wall he had you pressed up against on Jakku, when he touched you—really touched you—for the first time after you sent Xi’an reeling into the carbonite. “You—when you said that, I didn’t think I needed protecting.” </p><p>“You don’t,” you insist, earnest, and his hand comes up to meet your face, brushing your hair out of it, slow and intentional. He lingers behind your ear as he tucks it there. “You don’t need it—I just need to keep you safe in the small ways I can.”</p><p>“’M safe with you,” he slurs, and then he’s pulling you down on his chest. He’s still dirty, and you really wanted to strip him down and sponge him clean as he slept off the hunt beside you, but you can’t go anywhere when he has you anchored against him. His breath is still unsteady, and you silently snake your fingers up to press against his neck, and suddenly you can feel the hiss of the helmet disengaging, and your eyes clamp shut. It’s night, and it’s really dark in here, but usually when you’re not in the bed and you’re not blindfolded, he doesn’t dare take his helmet off. “I trust you,” he says, so softly it’s barely even there, but it’s coming out of his unmodulated voice, and you hum against his chest, his fingers tangled in your hair. </p><p>“I won’t look,” you insist anyways, trying to forget the glimpse of his face you caught earlier, the transgression still hot and slick down your spine. “Not until you tell me—if you—not ever,” you correct yourself, but he’s already asleep. His breath is still shaky, but it’s much stronger than it was even a few minutes ago, and you press your ear against his chest so you can hear the rhythm of his heartbeat catching steady. “Din,” you say, so quiet so that you’re sure you won’t rouse him. You want to whisper you love him, in the quiet hull of the ship, with no one to hear you but yourself, but fear seizes you anyway. You swallow, notching your head into the hollow of his neck, and you decide on something that holds the same weight instead. “I’m glad you’re home,” you admit, and then, as his sleepy hand comes up to rest between your shoulder blades, you echo, “<i>you’re home</i>,” and with the way he pulls you tight, still sleeping, it’s like he’s agreeing.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i hope that you loved it!!! i've been playing around so much with Space Geography and i'm truly making so much up, so please forgive me if distances/descriptions of planets aren't 100% canon! </p><p>as always. i'll be hanging around here, tumblr (amiedala), and tiktok (ammaaay) all night if anyone wants to talk about it at all!!</p><p>CHAPTER 13 WILL BE UP NEXT SATURDAY, MARCH 13TH, AT 7PM EST!!!!</p><p>xoxo, amelie</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Ricochet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Cyar’ika,” Din sighs, and your breath hitches in your throat, “trust me, when I propose to you, you’ll know.”</p><p>“Oh,” you manage, and everything is hot and there are stars exploding behind your eyes. “Okay.”</p><p>“Go to sleep,” he says, pulling you back into the crook of his neck. He smells like metal and smoke and leather—and still, somehow, cinnamon—and something just quiets within you, despite the way your stomach is still doing backflips. You can feel it ricocheting, that deep feeling of belonging, thrumming so hard in your chest, it drowns practically everything else out. You’re almost asleep before the thought of it knocks you clean awake, and your breath catches loudly in your throat. “Wait—did you just say <i>when</i>?”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>10k words of steaminess and looooove ;) this chapter was so fun to write, i can't wait to share it with you all!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You’re not sure how long the two of you sleep for. You wake up every few minutes at first, to press your panicked fingers against Din’s neck to make sure he’s still breathing, but once it regulates enough, you’re able to settle into a deeper sleep. After what feels like hours, you don’t want to leave him, but you have to pee, and on the way back from the tiny fresher, you see bounty pucks blinking. There’s three of them left, and while you don’t know his plan for what comes after the one that you just froze, there’s one that’s only a planet away, so you plug the coordinates into the navigation system. You don’t push the Crest into warp, though, and you try to reason with yourself that it’s because he needs time to heal, it’s also because you don’t want him to leave the ship again. Not this soon, and really, not ever, not unless you’re all on a safe planet and you can walk out into the open air with him and know the three of you are protected.</p><p>By the time you settle back in with him on the floor, fingers pressed against your guilty eyes, he pulls you in tight against his chest. He’s still filthy from the few weeks he spent on Trandosha’s surface, but now that you’re sure all the wounds are cleaned and patched as much as humanly possible, you can settle in against him and close your tired eyes. </p><p>“Cyar’ika,” he slurs, sleepily, against your head, and you have to fight every instinct within you to look up, because he’s still helmetless and you don’t want to break his trust. Again.</p><p>“Hi,” you manage, moving your fingers to the back of his neck, pressing your cold nose against his throat. “How are you feeling?”</p><p>“Better now,” he sighs, adjusting beneath you, “glad you’re here.”</p><p>“It got dicey,” you chance, breath lodged somewhere in your throat, “on Trandosha. You scared me.”</p><p>“You handled it,” he says, dragging a hand through your hair. “You did good.” </p><p>“How bad was it,” you ask, voice barely there, “on the surface?”</p><p>“Bad,” he manages, pulling you in closer. “Don’t like the Mid Rim.”</p><p>You shiver. “Me neither.” </p><p>You’re both quiet for a while. You feel his lips press against your temple, and you hum against his touch, his warmth. You want to keep talking to him, to press on the sore spots enough for him to get them loose, but you’re so tired, and you know how much being on the planet’s surface has wiped him out. When you ask your next question, you’re half asleep, and you’re sure he’s slipped back into sleep himself, the words swim out in a whisper that get swallowed up by the hull. </p><p>“Din? D’you…have brown eyes?”</p><p>It’s long gone, dissolved into the air of the Crest, by the time you both wake up again. </p><p> </p><p>The Crest has made contact with the next planet. You were both roused by the beeping of the navigation system as it neared Toydaria’s surface, but you pressed your sleepy hands against Din’s ears and tried to coax him back to sleep, willing both of you to ignore all the signs that you had touched down in another place and that he’ll have to leave you again. When he mumbles something about getting up, you press your lips against his neck, licking a tiny line behind his ear. He shudders. </p><p>“You’re—” his voice cuts off as you snuggle in closer, lifting the hem of his shirt with your palm and worming your fingers underneath, “oh.” </p><p>“Stay,” you wheedle, fighting past your embarrassment, your guilt over keeping him from doing his job, trailing your fingers up through the hair on his lower belly, kissing the hollow of his throat with your eyes closed. “you just—you just spent two weeks chasing someone, at least let me take care of you before you leave me again—”</p><p>“Cyar’ika,” he says, and you can hear the undercurrent of danger in his voice, but you push past your fear and keep talking anyways. </p><p>“You deserve to take an hour—please,” you beg, slipping your pointer finger tentatively in the waistband of his pants, “let me take care of you—” </p><p>“Are we on the next planet?” </p><p>Your head sags against his neck. “Yes,” you whisper, hollowly. “I—I know you need to go, just give me a few minutes to hold you.”</p><p>He sighs. You know how much you’re pushing it, how he usually would just give himself a bacta shot and keep going, but you know you’re making a solid argument for staying, for prolonging the time spent in the Crest. You press your lips against the skin of his neck again, and he sighs, pulling your tensed body on top of him. </p><p>“Two minutes,” he allows, and you make sure you show him his eyes are shut before you hitch your face up to kiss him. You’re ravenous. This type of craving for him isn’t like how intensely needy you were for him on Jakku. This is different. It’s not just about satisfaction, about getting each other off—it’s about closeness. It’s about something more.</p><p>Two minutes pass so incredibly fast when you don’t want them to end. Slowly, agonizingly, he pushes you off of him, and you close your eyes against it, earnest, scrambling to keep your skin pressed against his. </p><p>“Cyar’ika,” he warns, and the timbre of his voice makes you recoil. You let him gently slide you off of his body, and then you hear the hissing of the helmet clicking back into place, and when you open your eyes, they begin to fill with tears. He bends down from where he’s risen to wipe a tear away from your face. “I’ll be quicker this time.”</p><p>“What if you’re not?” you ask, voice small. “What if it’s another few weeks?”</p><p>He sighs, and you know he’s getting annoyed with you, but you can’t help it.</p><p>“What if you get hurt again,” you manage, and then he’s back on the floor with you. “We don’t have any more bacta—and you stopped <i>breathing</i>, there, Din—I just…I don’t think leaving quite yet is a good idea.” </p><p>“It’s my job,” Din argues, but the resistance has left his voice. “I’ve been worse off before. You’re a very good protector,” he says, tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear, “but so am I. You trust me, right?”</p><p>You nod, biting your lip. “More than anything.”</p><p>“I’m positive I can handle him,” Din promises, and his gloved hand latches onto yours. “It might be a few days, this time, but it won’t be weeks. Stay here. Wait for me when I come back, and then I promise…you’ll have me for a few days.”</p><p>You stare up at him. “You’re a man of your word.”</p><p>The helmet nods. “I am.”</p><p>“Okay,” you say, finally, pressing a kiss to his glove. “Be careful.” He stares at you for a minute more, finger trailing down your jaw, longingly, slowly, and then the gangplank is being lowered, and as he’s swallowed up in a sea of green, you sit on the ship you call home and watch him go. </p><p> </p><p>You’re in the shower again. You didn’t mean to end up here, really, but whenever Din’s gone, everywhere else on the Crest gets cold and lonely. The baby’s still sleeping, somehow, and you want to go back to bed yourself, but you’re wired. You’re terrified, now, that he’ll come back with another knife wound or a gunshot or bleeding from somewhere that you can’t fix, and it’s paralyzing unless you’re distracting yourself with the warmth of the water. </p><p>The fresher is tiny, absolutely miniscule, but you love it in here. You think you could maybe keep your eyes closed under the running water long enough to press your body up against Din’s, warm and wet, while you’re helping him get clean. You wish you had been able to pull him in here last night, give him a good cleaning before he went back onto another planet’s surface, but he just slipped out of your grasp before you could do so. </p><p>You miss him. You’re used to the feeling by now, or at the very least you should be, but it still gnaws at the pit in your stomach. It’s a supermassive black hole, the thing. You drag his bar of soap over your body, into all the services you wish his lips would dive between instead. You lather your hair, humming your mother’s favorite melody underneath your breath, trying to work his soap into everywhere you possibly can. </p><p>Something’s blinking, and you realize through your soapy bliss that it’s the commlink, and you’re drowning it out with your voice and the water, and you dive out of the shower, slipping on the floor and skidding into the mirror. </p><p>“Ow,” you say, and then, retroactively, “hi.” </p><p>“Hi.” </p><p>Something about his voice just drills a hole through you. It’s ragged, and it’s still so faraway, but you can feel it reverberate throughout your whole body. You sink down onto the floor, spreading your towel out, letting your body drip dry to the sound of his voice. “I miss you.”</p><p>He sighs. “I’ve been thinking about you.”</p><p>You bite your lip. “Are you hunting?”</p><p>He pauses, and then you hear his voice, low and raspy through the modulator, and whatever heat ripped through you before is an absolute inferno now. “Unfortunately.” </p><p>“You could have stayed here,” you breathe, and you know you’re pushing your limits, but as you drag a finger over your lip, you can hear him, white hot, breathing back at you, and that emboldens you enough to keep going. “I’m warmer than Toydaria.” </p><p>“It’s swampy out here. Humid.” </p><p>“Oh,” you sigh, “I’m competing with humidity?” </p><p>“Make a better case for yourself.”</p><p>You gasp. “I’m wetter than Toydaria.” </p><p>He sighs, low and thick, and your hand slips down your chest. “Without me?”</p><p>“Could have been with you,” you afford, trailing your finger down across your scar. “You turned me down.” </p><p>“I’m a madman,” Din says, and his voice is so coagulated with want and the modulator, it almost gets you all the way there. “A crazy person. When I get back to that ship, I’ll—I’m never leaving you again, cyar’ika.”</p><p>You hum, fingers slowly slipping between your thighs. “That’s not what you said this morning. And, besides, you have a job to do. I shouldn’t be distracting you—” </p><p>“No—” </p><p>“With my hand in between my thighs,” you interrupt, voice breathy. Something about this is making you bolder in ways you didn’t think you could be. “Could be yours. If you stayed.” </p><p>“You’re—fuck—you’re coming with me. Everywhere I go. I’ll—I’ll make you one of those—cradles that the baby has. You’re not ever leaving my side.”</p><p>You smile. “Never?”</p><p>He sighs again, and your fingers slip over your clit and you suppress a gasp. “Never. You’re stuck with me.” </p><p>“Fine by me,” you manage, fingers coated in your slick. “I’ll—I’ll stay with you forever, you know. For as long—as you want me.”</p><p>“Sweet girl,” he lilts, and you know it’s the same thing that he calls you in Mando’a, but it just hits different with his voice like that, “when I get back to the ship—fuck—” </p><p>“What are you gonna do to me?” you lilt, voice heavy, and then you hear shooting. You rocket upwards. “Din?” </p><p>“Gotta go,” he says, quickly, “stay wet for me.” And then he’s gone, and despite that pit in your stomach, Maker, you <i>are</i>. </p><p> </p><p>Hours pass. They feel like days. Months. Time is moving through wet cement in here. You’re going crazy, and if you imagine hard enough, he’s right there with you, on top of you, inside of you, but you know you can’t get off yet. You need to wait for him, because despite how much that waiting rips you to shreds, it’s <i>so worth it</i> when he gets back to the ship and puts his hands on you. </p><p>The baby’s still sleeping, and you’ve cleaned the ship from the horrifying scenario last night. All of Din’s blood and grime is gone off the floor of the Crest, and you’re glad for it. You hate seeing him injured, seeing him gasping at you rather than for you. After your parents died, you never thought you’d get close enough to another person again to let their danger in under your skin enough to make it yours, but it eclipses everything. Every time Din leaves the ship, it settles in your veins like concrete, and your heart doesn’t loosen up until he’s back in your arms. Partially, you think it’s because you’ve been touched down in such dangerous places lately, and you haven’t been able to leave the hull of the ship you call home.</p><p>You love the Crest. You prefer being in a ship than you do being up in the wide open, you always have, ever since you were a kid. Spaceships mean freedom to you, and that kind of freedom is something Din has always encouraged, never hindered. You don’t feel captive on here because you’ve been kept captive in someone’s ship before, and staying in the bed you sleep in with the man you love is nowhere close to the terror that was everyday living with Jacterr. There’s absolutely no comparison. And you know you have the autonomy to do whatever you want here, but you saw how much it tore Din apart when you put yourself and the baby in harm’s way the last time, and you’re just…not eager to ever worry him again, not for a reason that’s so inconsequential. </p><p>So, you stay on the Crest. You lay down in his bed, sighing against the uncomfortable cot beneath you, and you think about all the places in the galaxy you could go visit between bounties. The next two are back closer to Nevarro, you snooped through the bounty pucks the other night when Din was still asleep, and maybe you could convince him to touch down somewhere safe, just take a day or two to be together out of harm’s way. Naboo was beautiful, and it felt like that’s where the true cosmic connection between the two of you started sparking, so that’s where your mind goes to first. You could go up to the lake country for a weekend, rent a little cabin on the edge of the water, somewhere where the two of you could swim and he could take his armor off if he felt safe enough to. </p><p>You can’t help it. Your mind, the entire thing betraying you, keeps drifting to the bottom fraction of his face that you saw. His kempt mustache, the way the dark hair danced across his lips. The lips that kiss you, the lips that call you cyar’ika, the lips that dive between your thighs like you’re something divine. His beautiful skin, tan and even, regardless of the armor that constantly covers it and the little scars that you know pockmark across the length of his body. You thrill with the knowledge that you have a tiny bit of him, a tiny glimpse that you can pocket and keep for moments like these. Before you accidentally caught that one stolen look, you could have walked by him on the street. If he didn’t have the beskar on, if you didn’t hear his voice—Din could walk right past you on any planet you land on and you’d never know. </p><p>It does backflips in your stomach, the disconnect by being so intimately known buy someone you’ve never really seen. You know what he does to you, how he holds you, how he cares for you. You can feel it linger in the silence, in the corners of the Crest long after he’s gone, can feel it on your body everywhere he’s ever touched you. You know how much he knows about you—your love for the trees, for the kid, for being in the stars—the way he doesn’t even need to look at you to know when you want him, or when you’re upset. You know, somewhere deep down in that gnawing pit in your belly, that you know him, too. He’s kind in all the places he’s been hardened for years, he cares more about you and the baby than anything in the galaxy, he’s not as good with his words as most people are, that he prefers his silence because it’s all he’s ever known, that you’re the only noise in the world that he craves—that he tolerates, really—and that when you put your palm up to his, you can feel something pulsing there. That great cosmic connection, that grand pull of something more—it’s there. Even in the silence. Even in the noise. Everywhere. He’s under your skin, in your heart—everywhere. And still, if you hadn’t seen that tiny fraction of his face—would you know Din if he passed you by? </p><p>You’re being ridiculous in your overthinking. You know you are. You think if you can find him in the dark, here, you can find him absolutely anywhere. You could find him hidden on Coruscant. You could find him in the desert on Tatooine. You could find him out there on Dagobah, push past the unknown to find the one thing in the universe that’s <i>yours</i>. </p><p>You sigh, flipping over on your side, and then you can feel the gangplank being lowered. Your heart skips a beat, and you sit up quickly, realizing the baby’s still out in the open space and you don’t have your blaster. </p><p>“Stupid,” you hiss, internally kicking yourself, trying to configure your body in the most threatening position if someone other than Din opened the cot. </p><p>Then—voices. <i>Voices</i>? You strain your ears, trying to see if it’s just the modulator acting funky, but no—it’s Din, and there’s someone else. And unless the baby has miraculously learned how to speak overnight, someone else is aboard the ship. </p><p>You peek out, just a crack, just for a second, but Din tracks the sound through the helmet. You pause, just for a second, eyes locked like a tractor beam against his visor. He holds his finger up against where you know his lips are—which burns a hole through you, honestly—and you nod, imperceptible, holding your breath.</p><p>“Holding up your end of the deal so far, Mandalorian,” you hear a gruff, accented voice say. “I was expecting you to double-cross me back there.”</p><p>“Careful,” Din warns, short and terse. You watch as your tiny crack to the hull of the ship gets covered by beskar and his back, hulking and strong. You sigh against the sight, against seeing him upward in one piece. “I still might.”</p><p>You try to piece two and two together. This is clearly the bounty, you can see the cuffs around his scaly hands when Din shifts slightly. You hope the baby is still sleeping out of sight, but you don’t have eyes on his cradle. You hold your breath as the bounty passes by the alcove, disappearing into the fresher. As the door shuts and locks into place, Din hits the button and lets the alcove fly open, and you gasp, skittering back at the impact. </p><p>“Stars,” he breathes, and then he’s grabbing you and pulling you forward, “are you going to keep good on your promise, cyar’ika?”</p><p>You gasp at him as one of his gloved hands slides up your thigh, intentional. “Um,” you stutter, “yes?”</p><p>“You better,” Din says, darkly, trailing his other hand up your body, anchoring around your neck for a quick second, and then sliding up to cradle your cheek. “Toydaria’s surface wasn’t kind to me.”</p><p>“I will be,” you manage, tilting your head into the rough palm of his hand, inching yourself closer to his body. You’ve almost forgotten completely about the bounty as you wrap your legs around his armored ones, and you can hear the way he’s groaning through the modulator that he’d lock the quarry in the fresher if he could. “Why is he—?” </p><p>“He promised he’d come quietly if I didn’t put him in carbonite,” Din sighs, darkly, “and because I wanted to just—fuck, get back to <i>you</i>, I made a deal.” </p><p>“Did that include letting him spend time in the fresher?” you whisper, yelping as his hand latches on around your thigh, now, thumb grazing over the holes in your pant leg. </p><p>“No,” he says, swiping his finger around the edges of the hole, and you hum against his touch. “But with him in there, I can do this to you.” </p><p>“Mmm,” you say, reaching your hand out against the places where the beskar doesn’t cover, sliding your fingertips over his crotch. He’s hard, achingly so, and as he grits out a moan against your touch, your fingers stutter across his waistband, wanting to just run the tip of one against his gorgeous skin, but then you hear rustling from the fresher, and before you can recoil, before you can even take your hands off of Din, the bounty has walked out, practically in the two of you. You try your best to just look guilty, not frightened, but he’s some species you’ve never seen before, his skin scaly and bubbled up, and the way his face is contorted reminds you of the first bounty who tried to hurt you, the one that Din killed as he had you pinned up against the wall. </p><p>“Well,” the bounty manages, after a minute, his voice thick with an accent you don’t entirely understand. “Is this the kind of deal you entertain with your other bounties, Mandalorian?”</p><p>“I’m not—” you start, and then Din’s hand is on your knee again, and you shut up.</p><p>“Have you taken a lover, Mandalorian?” the quarry asked, the area in which you think his eyebrow is quirked up. Something about the way he says it makes your skin crawl, and you breathe a slight sigh of relief as Din steps between the two of you, beskar impenetrable. “Who is she? A girlfriend? A wife?”</p><p>Your belly does backflips at the word <i>wife</i>, because you’re certainly not married, you’ve never even discussed the titles of your relationship, it just <i>is</i>, but then Din—against all fucking odds—nods at the bounty, and you’re absolutely positive you’re doing a horrible job trying to keep the look on your face concealed. </p><p>“Something like that,” he says, tersely, and his cloak brushes up against the hole in your pants and you can feel that low, slow heat between your legs start to build again in the absence of fear. He looks back at you, just a second, and you widen your eyes at him, biting your lip, just a little, and as the visor slips down to where your mouth is, and then lower, at your heaving chest in the tank top you changed into after your shower, you know the bounty isn’t going to like the next words out of that modulator. “Deal’s off.”</p><p>He moves so fast, and suddenly his fist is out between the quarry’s cuffs, and the guy roars at Din’s statement, but it’s like he doesn’t even hear it. He wrestles the bounty across the floor to the carbonite chamber, and you’re relieved that he’s not going to be able to talk to you anymore, but with the way the man is howling obscenities at the both of you, you’re starting to wonder what else was included in the deal they made on Toydaria’s surface. </p><p>“I’ll—have your neck—for this one, Mando,” howls, struggling against Din’s iron fist, and then lets out a string of words you’ve never heard but are certain are curses, and then Din shoves him back underneath the carbonite gas. </p><p>“Get in line,” Din says, shortly, and you watch as the man’s scaly face contorts and stops struggling against the carbonite, quickly entombed in an unmoving silver block. </p><p>You’re trying not to gape at him, but your mouth is still open, and as Din turns to face you, you can feel that wetness you promised him through the commlink slowly start pooling in between your legs. He’s still standing there, staring at you, none of that urgency that occupied his grip when he first returned to the ship in his gaze. His stance, though, is a different story. He’s still upright, breath heavier than normal, but he seems like his usual self, and as he just continues to stand there, something wilts inside of you. All that fire that was there just a minute ago seems to have run out of him, because he’s not <i>doing</i> anything, he’s just standing there across the ship from you, and slowly, unintentionally, you start to fold yourself up in his bed, trying to make yourself shrink underneath his gaze. </p><p>“Cyar’ika,” he sighs, and whatever snapped inside you starts growing a spine again, and you sigh a sign of relief as you hear the warmth in his voice. “I’m—I can’t touch you. I’m filthy again.”</p><p>“I—” you start, breath hitching in your throat, “I don’t care if you’re dirty.”</p><p>He sighs again, the noise ripping a hole through the modulator, through you. “You—are you still wet for me?”</p><p>As if on cue, you feel it, the clean panties that you put on after your shower starting to dampen between your legs, and you nod. “Always.”</p><p>Din’s still standing there, and you don’t know if you should meet him across the distance, but you don’t know if your shaking legs could support you the short walk across the other end of the Crest, so you just stay put. “You’re—I want to look at you. Take your clothes off.” Even through the roughness, you can hear something vulnerable in his voice, so you nod, slightly, and then you start slipping off your pants, pulling the shirt over your head. You didn’t put a bra back on after the shower, so you can hear the way that his voice catches in the modulator when your bare chest is exposed to the hull of the Crest, to him. Something about the way he’s still just standing there, illuminated across the ship, is making your knees buckle. You’re not embarrassed of your naked body, not with Din, because he’s never once given you a reason to be, but there’s something so intimidating about his standing and his silence, and it makes you want to pull his blanket off the cot he calls a bed and wrap yourself up in it. </p><p>“Din,” you squeak out, and at the sound of his name, he starts stepping over to you, and you shake your hair loose from where it was fastened gently at the nape of your neck, and he sighs as it hits your collarbone. “You—you broke the deal.”</p><p>He stops for a second, tilting his helmet back where the carbonite bay was, then turning his visor back to you. “Why does that matter?”</p><p>You don’t know. This is such a weird thing to be pushing. But now your clothes are off, and your words are out there, and despite you just wanting the helmet to be disengaged and to feel him inside you, you can’t shut yourself up. “You—you always said you were a man of your word.”</p><p>“Cyar’ika,” he sighs, and then, before you can process it, he’s crossed the distance between you two almost entirely, the beskar just a glint away from pressing up against your bare skin, “I am with you. I am with the kid. But you’re—the only two people in the galaxy that I care about keeping my word to.” </p><p>“Din,” your voice hitches again, and his thumb finds your chin, yanking it upward to look directly into his visor. </p><p>“He was in the way,” he says, so simply that it makes your heart ache, “and I wanted you. So I froze him, and he won’t be out of that carbonite before he’s Karga’s problem. He might hold the grudge, but I won’t ever think about him again. How could I, when you’re in front of me?”</p><p>You gasp as he kicks your legs open, and before you can agree, his gloved finger is in your mouth. You stutter around the weight of it, the taste, and you just look up at him, innocently, obediently, and he sighs, deep and thick. </p><p>“Bite, you sweet little thing,” he manages, and you do, and then his glove is dangling from your mouth. “Can I touch you?”</p><p>You roll your eyes at him. </p><p>“That’s not an answer,” he says, hand hovering over your bare chest, and you nod. “Neither is that, cyar’ika, use your words.”</p><p>“Touch me,” you choke out, voice high and breathy, and when his thumb brushes over your nipple, you roil against him. “Oh, Maker, <i>please</i>, touch me—” </p><p>His hand is around your throat. He’s so gentle with it, so intentional, and you lean into his grip, using your hand to wrestle his other glove off. He sighs as you pull his finger into your mouth, sucking on it as gently and warmly as you can. You can feel him buckle under your grip. </p><p>“I’m—” he says, darkly, “I’m trying to be gentle, but—stars, I fucking—missed you, cyar’ika—I need you to stop me if I’m being too rough. Promise me you’ll stop me.” </p><p>You nod, the gesture halted and late, and he takes his finger out of your mouth, hooking it under your chin again. “I promise,” you manage, all air, and he nods against your vocal consent. </p><p>“Close your eyes.” </p><p>By the time the words are out of his mouth, they already are. You can see stars sparking up behind the blackness of your closed eyelids, and you can see the darkness shift more when Din’s grip disappears for a second to make sure the other lights in the hull are turned off. You’re slumped up against the alcove where his bed is, both of your hands pushed up against the ledge of where the cot begins, the wedge of your ass perched on top of it, because you know if you let go, you’ll crumple on the floor. When Din’s grip returns to your body, you sag against it. He rubs his fingers across your nipples again, kneading a thumb against your pillowy flesh, and you can feel him moving to bend over you before you feel his tongue licking around the left one. You gasp, your back arching without your mind telling it to, and he sinks his teeth against it, his tongue swiping circles against where it’s hard in his mouth. </p><p>“Oh,” you say, blindly, because that’s all you’re able to manage. His hand finds your other one, pinching down against that nipple too, and you throw your head back as his mouth switches to that one, other fingers coming up to play with the abandoned one. “That feels so good,” you’re finally able to piece together, and he moans, muffled against your tits. </p><p>His mouth switches, sucking a hickey to the underneath of your right one, and you moan loudly against the open air of the ship. When his lips leave you, you moan, low and needy, and you reach desperately through the dark, trying to find where he went. </p><p>“I’m going to—” he says, and then he sinks totally on the floor, picking up your ankles and throwing one over either shoulder. “Spread your legs for me.” </p><p>You obey, tongue pressing against your teeth as you do, because you can feel his gaze locked between your legs. You don’t know how long Din just stays there, on his knees, just staring at you, but then you feel his hot tongue drag up your pussy, tentative for only a second, and the second you start moaning for him, his mouth is a furnace against you. The man who only knew how to lick you when he first started is long gone. His tongue is a fucking fire. It’s expert, it goes everywhere you want it to without having to use the words that currently couldn’t even be conjured. You just moan, messily, loudly, as the tip of it presses up against your clit, blinding and white-hot. He’s ravenous. You can feel the way he’s salivating against you, worshipping you, and he moans hot against you when your fingers manage their shaky way up to tangle in his hair. </p><p>One singular finger trails up in between your legs, and before you can tell him you are, you cum. It’s vicious and warm and it leaves you weak and stuttering, his thumb just sitting gently against where your clit is. </p><p>“Din,” you manage, and he shakes his head between your thighs. </p><p>“I’m gonna stay here,” he says, voice thick and intentional, “for hours. And you’re going to let me make you cum over and over for me. Understood?”</p><p>“I wanna touch you,” you whine, and you cannot <i>believe</i> you’re arguing with him, but you are, and then his finger is cresting at your entrance, and he sinks his thumb inside you as you gasp. </p><p>“Not until I’m done,” he says, harshly, and then his mouth is on you again. </p><p>It’s everything. You know how he feels on you, in you, you feel it reverberating everywhere, even when he’s not with you, even when he’s off the ship—but it’s different this time. It’s not just because he wants you—it’s because he <i>needs</i> you. It’s because, for whatever reason, what’s between your legs is the <i>only<i> thing that sustaining him. He’s gasping against you, almost louder than you are—which is saying a lot—and you can’t even do anything except let him hold you there and eat his heart out. </i></i></p><p>
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    <i>It takes what feels like minutes before you can tell him that you already came, twice, and even in the dark, you feel his glare pinning you against the bed. You squeak, clamping your mouth shut until you’re moaning, and his mouth is a thunderstorm against you, licking everything you’re leaking clean. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Din,” you say totally strung out after your third orgasm, “I need a break—I think—just for a second—” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“I want to give you more,” he says, lowly, stubbornly, “please, cyar’ika—” and the way that his voice wobbles makes you ready to lock your legs around his neck again and stay there forever, “—<i>please</i>.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“You can give me more,” you say, breath uneven, “but I just need a second.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>He’s gone from you. Immediately. You feel the air woosh against your skin before you can register that he’s moved, and you sit up, heaving, making grabby hands in the dark for his face. When you collide with it, you sigh, holding him as gently but intently as you possibly can. “I missed you,” you whisper, through the darkness, and you know that for how many times you’ve said it, he always reacts differently, distantly. But he said it earlier, so you’re taking the chance.</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>He fucking sags against your touch, or your words, you’re not sure which. “I missed you more.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>You hum. “No—” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Believe me,” he interrupts, darkly, “I missed you more.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>You bite down on your lip, thumb swiping over his cheek, and he leans into your touch. “What happened down there?” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>He’s silent for a while, and even through the dark, you can feel his gaze on you. Something about the intensity of it makes all the heat in your body rush to your cheeks. “I—not yet. I want you first.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>You can feel there’s something more to it, you know the hollowed-out way he’s talking that something happened, because you’ve been there a thousand times, but you also know that he doesn’t do things halfway. If you push him on this, right now, he might not open up later—and that’s what you want. So you breathe, heavily, ghosting your thumb across his cheek in the pitch dark again, and lay back down. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“You can have me. However you want.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Finally,” he sighs, but as he leans into your thighs again, his touch a burning pyre, your breath catches in your throat. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“On one condition,” you say, slowly, and his mouth hovers an inch away from you, warm enough for you to feel the heat, but far enough to not feel his touch. “I get to touch you, too.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Cyar’ika—” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“You take care of me,” you barrel over him, “I take care of you. That’s how this works, remember?”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Din exhales, and his sighs just seem so different when they’re not coming through the modulator. You can feel how fast your heart is beating, and you have to ignore the rushing blood in your ears to hear what he says. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“You really want to that bad?” he asks, and you nod fervently in the dark before you remember he can’t see you. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Yes. It’s all I’ve thought about since you were gone.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>He’s silent again, but you don’t push through it. You just sit there and let him mull it over, and then slowly, finally, he leans in to lick you again. You gasp in the darkness, and his mouth leaves, only for a second, just to mutter out an “okay”, and then his mouth is on you again. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>You’re not sure how much time passes this time. It feels like an entire eternity, the only sounds in the Crest your moans and the words he’s whispering in between them. You may black out. You’re not sure. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Cyar’ika,” Din says, and you’re in such a daze you don’t even realize for full seconds that his mouth isn’t in your pussy anymore. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Yeah?” you manage, your voice still breathy, your chest still heaving. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“You can touch me now.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>You’re still so dazed from him spending what felt like hours between your legs that it takes you a long time to answer. He prompts you again, and then something metabolizes, and you rush forward, scooting to the edge of the cot and immediately falling off of it, your legs so wobbly. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Sorry,” you say, sheepishly, pushing loose hair out of your eyes, “but the floor is just—easier.” And then he’s just pulling you down on top of him, letting all your shaky limbs collapse on top of him, each one anchored on either side, and he grabs your hips, intentional, grinding down against where he’s hard in his pants. He still has the armor on his legs, the beskar cold and resolute against the bare flesh of your legs. “Take those off,” you say, and he doesn’t move for a second, but then you prompt him again. “Take your pants off.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>It’s not the smoothest thing in the world, but slowly, agonizingly, he does, barely moving you in the process, and when your bare skin touches against his, you moan. Loudly. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Cyar’ika,” he says, and then his ungloved hand is grabbing your chin, large fingers squeezing down just enough to make you gasp, “you can’t touch me for long.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Din,” you wheedle back, trying to grab his face for leverage, “I’ve barely gotten to touch you in over two weeks. I want to take my time with you—” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“No,” he says, simply, and you’re disappointed, your heart sinking, but you nod around his grip, showing him you’ll listen. “No, because if you touch me longer than a few minutes, I’ll cum all over your pretty little hand and I won’t get to fuck you.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>You gape in the darkness. For once, you’re thankful the Crest is pitch black, because you don’t know what you would do if Din could see how much your cheeks are burning, how flushed you’ve become by one simple sentence. His voice is dark, rich, vibrating with that kind of desire that only you can tell. “Um. Okay.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“You understand?” he asks, and <i>Maker</i>, you’re so grateful that he’s holding your hips down and that your legs are planted on the ground on either side of his, because you’re pretty sure that you’d fall right over if you were standing. You nod again, hoping he can feel the movement against the palm of his hand, but then he says, “use your words,” again, voice deep and low in your ear, and you almost cum all over again. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Ye—es,” you squeak out, word cracking in half right down the syllable. “I understand.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Good girl,” he breathes, and then his tongue is in your ear, and you swear to whatever heaven above that you nearly black out from it <i>again</i>. You feel your naked body slam against his, and you fumble around in the dark for his cock, fingers shaking at the way he’s kissing down your neck. A rabid, hungry animal is how you’d describe it—ravenous, insatiable. It’s like your skin is his only sustenance, his only reprieve. Din’s lips settle in the hollow of your neck where your collarbone dips, and you wrap your shaking hands around him—big, hard, pulsing—and shudder at the way he moans muffled against you when you start pumping. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>You know he wants to fuck you—and you want to be fucked—but this just feels so good. Sitting in Din’s lap, him just letting you drift your hands wherever you want—this is almost as good as the first time he fucked you. You moan as his mustache scrapes up against the other side of your neck where his lips roam, gasping as his tongue finds your pulse point and he sucks down, hard, and you pulse your hands again, jerking him off quick and intentional. He stops for a second, and the moan that <i>rips</i> out of him and ricochets off of the interior of the Crest is so loud that it eclipses absolutely everything else. Shaking, you thumb over the tip, catching just one, glistening bead of precum, and as you drag it over your palm and go to pump your loose fist again, he lets out a strangled cry. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Don’t you dare,” he warns, and you want to tease him so bad for it, want him to know how you feel every time you’re waiting for it, and as you stick your tongue out and go to lean down to lick it off, his hand drifts from your face to around your neck. You moan as he tightens his grip, just once, and when he releases, you’re dazed for an entirely different reason. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Let me—just a taste,” you try, and then his fist is in your hair, gentle but intentional, tipping your whole head back with the force of it. “You’re really going to deny my mouth on you when you just gave me yours?”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Yup,” Din says, but his voice is still strangled in that lust-filled way, thick with the thought of it. “I want to fuck you.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>And <i>Maker</i>, something about the way he says it, the nihilistic, matter-of-fact tone, coupled with the fact that you’ve missed him like you’re in withdrawal the last few weeks, just lets your desire to suck him off, and you nod, slightly, against where his big hand is tangled up in your hair. “Deal,” you say, white-hot, and then his mouth is on yours, just for a second, but he fucking slams into you as he pushes his lips up against yours makes both of you ricochet backwards. Your head knocks against the cot, but before you can react, Din’s hand is knotted back up in your scalp, preventing any further impact as his mouth is devouring you. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>The first time he kissed you, it felt like a lightning strike. Like he was hungry, like you were the only thing in the entire galaxy that would hold him over. Somehow, that feeling, burning brighter and hotter than Tatooine’s double suns, has grown even stronger. You can feel it in the way he’s kissing you, lips sealing themselves to yours like there’s literally no other choice. He’s inhaling you. You want to be equally as ravenous, but you have a feeling that if you slam into Din the same way he’s colliding with you, he’d hold you in place to keep you there longer. It’s more than just simple want, at this point—it’s everything, and it’s devastating, and there is nothing else within this entire galaxy that you want more. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Your hands drift down, just for a second, but they brush up against him, and he’s rock hard. It makes both of you shudder when you make impact, and then, so fast that you don’t have any time to react, he’s pulled you into him, risen up on his knees, and somehow spun around. You have no idea how it happened. It was so quick. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Din—” you say, and you’re not even sure what your intentions are, because then he’s moving forward and pushing you down against the floor of the Crest. You gasp at the feeling of the cold metal against your back, but then your body adjusts, and he’s on top of you. His hip buck into yours, even though he hasn’t made any effort to put anything inside you yet, and he buries his lips back just under your ear, and you can feel how heavy he’s breathing, and before you can say anything else, his lips are on yours again, one hand back against your chin, the other moving your legs open so he can get better leverage. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“If—I’m too rough,” he grits out, and you can feel his voice reverberating all the way down your body, “you need to tell me. Hit me, if you need to, but—you need to stop me.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Your eyes flutter. “Do whatever you want,” you breathe, “be as rough as you want—tear me to fucking sh—<i>shreds</i>, if that’s what’s going to—” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Don’t say things like that,” he interrupts, lips up against yours. You can feel the ghost of his mustache, and you flap your hand around between him to wrap around his cock again. He moans, so loudly you think he could wake everything in space up with the singular noise, and then he’s pushing the very tip against you. “You’re going to make me act up.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Do it,” you say, the words barely there at all. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>He swears under his breath, something in a language you can’t make out, and then he’s pushing just the tip inside you, and your back arches against the coldness of the ground as he slowly slides into you. “Fuck,” he sighs, and his voice is fucking <i>gravel</i>, “you feel so—good, pretty girl.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>You hum. “I stayed wet for you. I’m a woman of my word.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>He grunts, one hand slamming against the floor as he finds your hip, thrusting into you as far as he can go. Maker, it’s almost too much. You can’t even breathe while he’s fucking into you, you can’t find the air that’s been swallowed up solely by Din and the rhythm his body makes against yours. “Too good—cyar’ika,” he manages. “You’re so warm—so <i>warm</i>, so wet—that’s my good girl.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>You feel all the blood in your body rush to your cheeks. Something about the way that he says it makes you wonder if he’s even aware of what he’s talking about, or if he’s so blissfully distracted by the feeling of burying himself in you that it’s all coming out as pure noise. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>His hands leech under your body, peel you off the floor. It’s at the same time that he hits something deafening deep inside you, and you moan as you’re suddenly being lifted through the air as you’re about to cum again. You think he’s turned the lights on for a second by how bright the stars explode behind your eyes, and you squeeze them shut only to realize that it’s because you’re mid-orgasm again, the rest of the world literally fading out. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>You moan, loud, you can feel the way it rips out of you. It’s the kind of noise you’d be embarrassed about with anyone else, but the second it’s gone, you forget about it. You’re not in any shape to ruminate on anything right now, anyways, because Din’s cock is still buried impossibly deep inside you. You grab onto his neck, weak with the action, because every cell in you is exhausted from his expert touch, but he helps you slide your elbows around his shoulders and hold on enough to keep yourself upright as he slams his hips all the way into you. You’re sore and you’re tired, but you’re so blissfully happy that a stupid smile spreads across your face in the darkness and you just let him hold you there and fuck you blind. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“I fucking—missed you,” you manage, each word punctuated by Din’s thrusts. “Missed—fuck—missed you so much, Din—you can’t leave—can’t leave for so long again, not without fucking me first—” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Stop,” he whines, the noise all air, “it’s too soon—you’re gonna make me—” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“You can,” you barrel over him, “you can cum. In me. Whenever you’re ready.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Wanna fuck you forever,” he mumbles into your ear, voice so low. “Give up—<i>fuck</i>—give up bounties. Just you.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Something about the way he says it, desperate and vulnerable, emboldens you to the point of cockiness. As he’s nearing the last few thrusts, you bite down on your lip, squeeze your eyes shut, and whisper it in his ear, so quiet that he could ignore it to the sound of his own moans if he wanted. “Catch me like one of your bounties,” you whisper, “and then fuck me in your handcuffs.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>That does it. Din hits something deep and wet inside you, the very tip hitting your apex, and the way that he grabs your hips to force you to take every drip as he leaks out into you makes you cum again, too. For what feels like full minutes, you’re both slumped up against each other, keeping each other up by the sheer centrifugal force of leaning into the other, gasping, wordless, waiting for the stars to leave your eyes and the knots to leave your tongues. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Uh,” you manage, finally, and you wipe your lips off, “wow.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Meant it,” he says, gruffly, and his voice is so deep in your ear. “Not leaving again. Gonna—you’re gonna have to come with me.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“D’you think I could fit?” you ask, and then you start to giggle at the image of it, “in the baby’s cradle?”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Maybe,” he allows, and you throw your head back, laughing, “you’re good at—y’know—contorting yourself into shapes and…that could prove useful.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Or you could just—not leave the Crest,” you suggest, still laughter bubbling up in your throat, “and then I wouldn’t have to be a contortionist and you could have me any time you wanted me.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>He’s quiet. Too quiet. It’s still impossibly dark in there, so you pull your head away from the crook in his neck to pull his face in between your hands. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“I didn’t—” you start, suddenly scared you said something impossibly wrong, “mean that, you know—I just—I want to have you all to myself. I know that’s selfish, unfair. Impractical, really, since being a bounty hunter is your job, and everything, and since—I know you need it. The job. The Guild. I’m happy here,” you insist, and Maker, it’s like you can’t shut yourself up, “<i>So</i> happy, Din—I don’t need anything else.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>He’s still quiet, but his hands are still loosely gripping your hips, and as one slides up to tuck your loose, messy hair behind your ear in the darkness, you sigh out relief. He does that when he can’t find the words, you’ve noticed, the small act of care that’s become such an intimate thing that only he does to you. He runs his hands through your hair, ignoring all the places it gets stuck because of how matted it got while the two of you were going at it, and you stroke your thumb over his cheek. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Wanna give you more,” he says, finally, “I do. A whole life—something other than being a babysitter—caretaker—whatever you do for the kid. And me,” he adds on, lowly. “It is my job. Until I met the kid—then you—I thought that would be forever. Bringing people in for money. It was—I was good at it. I still am,” he says, sighing, circling his other arm around your waist, pulling you in flush against his chest. You can feel his hair on your bare skin, and you keep your eyes closed as your thumb ghosts over his lips as he’s trying to find his next words. “But it’s—hunting isn’t what I need to survive anymore. It’s part of it.” He pauses, just for a second, long enough for your breath to catch in your throat. “But…with you—life doesn’t just have to be about surviving anymore.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>You feel like you could cry. You feel it lodged deep in your esophagus, and you have to swallow multiple times before you can say anything back. “I’ll follow you anywhere,” you promise, voice shaking. “I’ll take whatever life you can give me, Din. With you—and the baby—this is where I want to be, even if it’s just the inside of the Crest. Darasuum,” you promise, leaning in. Your lips glance off of his as you say it, and it makes your heart soar. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Forever,” he agrees, and the calmness in his voice when he says it rights every single thing that could possibly be wrong. You kiss him, gently, just once, wanting to leave him room to say anything else. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>What feels like full minutes drift by, and then his hands are in your hair again, tucking it behind your ears, and you can feel the urge to tell him that you love him bubble up inside your stomach. It’s deafening, the feeling, it drowns everything else out. You can hear it in the silence, in the way that time ticks by in the hull of the ship. You want to tell him, but it just doesn’t seem fair to do it right now, right <i>here</i>—the moment doesn’t feel monumental enough. His hands find your cheeks, and for the first time, you can tell how comfortable he’s getting with touching you, because none of his fingers falter. After a second, you can hear something release, and he tips his forehead against yours. You’re not sure how long you stay there, heart hammering out of your chest, so content in the silence you’ve both created, and you can feel the words pulse every time you breathe, tucked just under your tongue. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Forever,” you repeat, trying to throw the weight of the confession of love behind the three syllables, and the way that he holds you up into him feels like the same promise. Maybe you won’t say it—not here, not now—maybe you’ll save love for a moment when he really needs to hear it, or when you really need to say it—because you can feel it. He knows. And with the way he’s holding you, so gentle, so present, so <i>him</i>—you’d be willing to bet he feels it too.</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Slowly, eventually, you sink down into the floor. you feel around for fabric to tie around your eyes so that they don’t betray you in the morning if you wake up before he does, but then Din’s hands are pulling yours up against him, nestling you in between the crook of his arm. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Don’t,” he says, and you immediately give up the search. “I trust you.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>You know that you breached that trust when you caught a glimpse of his face on the last planet you were on, so you press your lips together, trying to stomach the guilt. You don’t say anything. You’re afraid that anything that comes out of your mouth right now will be a confession, either of love or your forbidden glance, so you just press them against his bare chest, right below his collarbone.</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>The both of you are there for a while, in complete darkness, when a memory from earlier floods back into your brain, and the thought of it shoots you awake, impossible and loud. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Hey Din?” you chance, voice barely anything, because you don’t want to wake him up if he’s already asleep, “um, when the bounty asked—if I was your girlfriend—or, um—your <i>wife</i>,” you hiss, the word muffled against his skin, “why did you—?”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>You don’t have an eloquent end to your question. The question itself isn’t eloquent at all, actually, and you cringe at the way the words came out, embarrassed and childish, but he doesn’t answer, and you’re almost positive he’s asleep, so you breathe a sigh of relief against the darkness of the Crest. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Because you are,” he admits, so lowly you think you’re hallucinating it. Your eyes are so heavy with sleep, but you manage to tilt your head up against his chin, heart hammering in your chest. “Something like that—something more, than that, really, but the bounty didn’t deserve to know what you are to me.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Oh,” you say, dazed, and then you pull yourself out of sleep for a second time, because he maybe just called you something <i>more</i> than his wife—didn’t he? “Um, what am I?”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Mine,” he says, easily, and you sigh, sagging into him. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Well,” you say, “duh.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“You want me to call you my girlfriend?” he asks, and you think he’s making fun of you, you do, so you shove his shoulder in the dark, fist landing half against his skin and half against the floor. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“We’re not kids,” you say, sheepishly. “But—I mean, it’d be nice to call you something official—” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“To who?” he asks, and you can hear the smile in his voice, “the kid?” </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>You’re exasperated, and you know he’s only poking fun of you because of the ridiculous way that you posed the question, stuttering through it like a teenager with her first crush, so you’re willing to just leave it at that, despite the small, weird pit of sadness in your stomach, because you know that neither of you need a silly title to define what you are to each other. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“You want me to call you my wife?” Din asks, and the entire ship bottoms out from underneath you. You don’t remember how to breathe for an embarrassingly long time, and you try your best to regulate your heart from where it’s slamming in your chest, and you choke on any words you try to put together. It’s for the best, probably, because they’d be gibberish, speaking in tongues. You just gape against Din’s bare skin in the dark, trying to compose yourself. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Um,” you say, torn between wanting to be honest and wanting to just pull it together long enough to process the words he just said to you, “eventually,” you finally settle on. “Yeah. Eventually, that’d—I’d like that.” </i>
  </i>
</p><p><i><i>“Okay,” Din says, easily, “noted,” and then his breathing regulates, like he didn’t just basically admit that he wanted to </i>marry</i> you, like you didn’t just admit it back, and you’re so wired that you don’t think you could ever sleep again. You’re electric. Every single part of you is in flames, a fire he started way back on Nevarro that finally caught and is about to burn an entire forest down. </p><p>“Hey—uh, Din,” you say, and you can’t stop your voice from shooting clean through three octaves, “did you just—did you just propose to me?”</p><p>And, stars, if you thought that waiting for him to come back from his bounty hunting was long, it’s now eclipsed so entirely by the way his silence swells up and surrounds you. You bite down on your lip, hard, a weak buffer against spitting more words at him so he’d forget what you just asked, and then you feel him shift in the darkness to face you, tipping his forehead against yours. </p><p>“Cyar’ika,” Din sighs, and your breath hitches in your throat, “trust me, when I propose to you, you’ll know.”</p><p>“Oh,” you manage, and everything is hot and there are stars exploding behind your eyes. “Okay.”</p><p>“Go to sleep,” he says, pulling you back into the crook of his neck. He smells like metal and smoke and leather—and still, somehow, cinnamon—and something just quiets within you, despite the way your stomach is still doing backflips. You can feel it ricocheting, that deep feeling of belonging, thrumming so hard in your chest, it drowns practically everything else out. You’re almost asleep before the thought of it knocks you clean awake, and your breath catches loudly in your throat. “Wait—did you just say <i>when</i>?”</p><p>“Cyar’ika,” Din repeats, voice low and smooth.</p><p>“Yeah?” </p><p>“Sleep.” </p><p>You sigh against his chest. “As you wish.” And, despite it all, you fall clean into sleep, warm and secure nestled in between Din’s arms. The last thing you remember before you pass out entirely is just four words, repeated in a never-ending frenzy through your mind—<i>Darasuum, it means forever</i>—and then, again—<i>he feels it too, he feels it too, he feels it too</i>.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>HOPE YOU LOVED IT!!! chapter 14 will LIKELY be coming at the usual 7:30 pm EST on Saturday, March 20th, but i'm having some health issues and might not be able to get it up on time. any updates regarding Something More will be on my tumblr (amiedala) and/or my tiktok (padmeamydala)! as always, i'll be hanging around here and tumblr all night and would love to hear from you!!</p><p>LOVE YOU ALL AND THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE LOVE!!!! i'm so honored i get to write this for you!!!</p><p>xoxo, amelie</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Speechless</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Speechless yet?” Din whispers, and then he’s moving, roving up your body. </p><p>You whimper.</p><p>“Kiss me,” he breathes, and even though your eyes are still shut, you find his lips, and he tastes like you, salty and desperate, and he licks a pattern into your mouth. It’s devastating, how much you love him, how he makes your heart beat in every single inch of your body. It’s a whole flood, all of it, just completely overwhelming. “You ready to go?” he asks, softly, and you shake your head vehemently. </p><p>“No—not,” you breathe, “not speechless yet.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>BIG FEELINGS CHAPTER!! hope y'all love it!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You wake up to little green goblin hands in your face.</p><p>Okay, maybe not in your face, but those three tiny fingers on each hand is where your vision focuses first, and you gasp against the look of it before you realize it’s just the baby. He coos as your eyes flutter awake, and you do a quick ground search to look for human feet to make sure Din isn’t standing there, still unmasked. He isn’t. Your stomach sinks, because you can feel that the ship is still stationary, and you have absolutely no idea how long you were out for. You could easily be parked in a forest or a landing bay on the next planet his new bounty’s on, and you wouldn’t even know it. </p><p>The baby babbles, and your sleepy eyes refocus on his little green body. You try to pull him into your lap, but he puts up a resistance, and you look at him, confused.</p><p>“What do you want?” you ask him, around a yawn, genuinely puzzled. He usually loves to sit in your lap, especially when it’s just the two of you, because he’s learned that you let him play with his little metal ball to no end. “I don’t have your toy, bug—” </p><p>And then you’re cut off, because he’s pushing a small plate of something into your lap, and you realize in a daze that it’s food. There’s a ration emptied onto the plate, something soggy but warm, and there’s fresh slices of that fruit you tried on Naboo arranged in a hesitant semicircle around the food. The baby, in all his infinite wisdom, doesn’t know how to use a knife like that, so you look around, suspicious that Din’s lurking around here somewhere, and then his entire armored body untucks itself from the one corner in the hull, and you gasp.</p><p>“Good morning,” he says, easily, stepping toward you. Your neck is tilted all the way back to look up at him, heart still racing. </p><p>“You scared the shi—the bantha dung,” you amend, eyes shooting to the little one, “out of me. Why were you hiding?”</p><p>He shrugs, and it looks ridiculous under the beskar. “The kid wanted to give you the breakfast. I let him.”</p><p>It’s such a simple answer that you’re almost annoyed. “Sit and eat with me.” </p><p>“I’m not hungry,” he says, immediately, and you sigh, looking to the baby, who gives the tiniest, imperceptible shake of his little green head, confirming what you already know. </p><p>“Din,” you say, gently, “you have to eat, too—” </p><p>“We don’t have much food yet,” he interrupts, sliding down to the floor beside you. He settles in between you and the opposite wall, letting the kid toddle over to his shiny lap. “I ate down on Toydaria, and wherever we stop next, I can pick up more food. The baby ate,” he says, catching his tiny green hand from where it’s trembling, trying to use the Force to steal your breakfast, slices of the fruit halfway on its way to his big mouth, “don’t let him steal yours.” You snatch it back, shaking your head in sheer disdain.  </p><p>“He still looks hungry,” you tell Din as the baby’s big bug eyes fill up with reflective tears. “We should really stock up good the next place we land. So you can eat something other than leftover rations and the kid won’t steal my fruit.” You boop his tiny nose, and the baby forgets all about the fake tears he’d worked up just seconds before. </p><p>“Good point,” Din mutters.</p><p>You smile up at him, still half asleep. “What happened down there?” Your voice is quiet, calm. You’re trying your absolute hardest to not worry the baby, but you know how rough it was for Din, and you don’t want to let him just internalize it. </p><p>His visor is opaque, reflective as ever, and you falter under the weight of it. Just a little, but it’s enough for him to slowly sink down on the floor across from you. “Nothing.”</p><p>“Din.” You hold his gaze—at least where you think his gaze is—because the last thing that you want to do is remind him that he has another bounty out there to catch. You’re being selfish, you know you are, but you can’t help it.</p><p>“Someone tried to take my helmet off,” he says, voice dark. “I didn’t let them. It got dicey.”</p><p>“How dicey?” you manage, voice small. </p><p>His helmet has dropped back down, visor tilted to his armor on his left leg. Your heart sinks when you see the bounty puck blinking against his reflective silhouette. You know you just had this conversation last night, you know that he doesn’t want to leave you, but he has to, but the red flicker of the tracker is such a visceral reminder that you’ll soon touch down on a new planet’s surface and he’ll be leaving, <i>again</i>, that you sigh. You decide it can wait, the interrogation. He has too much on his plate right now, and you can be patient. You swallow.</p><p>“Where are we?” you ask, and you try to keep from sounding sullen, you do, but he chuckles through the modulator, and you squint, suspicious at him. </p><p>“Still Toydaria,” Din allows, reaching forward to wipe magenta juice from where it’s dribbled out of your lips. “But I have a proposition for you.” </p><p>“A proposition,” you say, leaning forward, eagerly. The reminder of his semi-proposal last night makes your whole body fill with butterflies. “Do elaborate.” </p><p>He’s looking at you through the visor, you can feel it. “I have somewhere I want to take you. It’s quiet. Safe, really. We could—maybe take a weekend, a day or two at least.” </p><p>Your hearts soars. “Are you proposing that we go on a romantic getaway, Din—” You pause, realizing he’s never told you his last name. You cock your head at him.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Um,” you say, buffering, not sure if you’re allowed to ask, or if he’s allowed to give you his last name if you even do, so you just squint at him. “I would quite enjoy a romantic getaway,” you concede, tapping your lip with your pointer finger, “Din…?”</p><p>“Din what?” he asks, flatly, clearly dumbfounded, and the baby claps his little green hands together with that mischievous glee written all over his face, and the visor oscillates from the two of you a few times until Din cocks his head at you again. “Din <i>what</i>?”</p><p>“Well, you see,” you say, “that’s when non-Mandalorians usually provide their—uh, partners—with their last name. But,” you barrel over yourself, quickly, “you don’t have to—unless that’s okay.” </p><p>He’s still staring at you. You can feel it in the way a low heat starts in your belly and rises up to your cheeks. </p><p>“Do you want to know my…whole name?” he asks. “Is that it?” </p><p>You nod, clumsily. “Yes. I didn’t think—I could ask.” </p><p>“Well, that explains your tongue being tied,” he says, leaning back on one elbow, and you gulp as you take him in, all of him, in full beskar regalia. “This time, at least.” </p><p>“I’ll have you know,” you start, “I’m better with words than you are most of the time—” </p><p>“It’s Djarin,” he sighs, and your mouth immediately closes. “Din Djarin. Okay?”</p><p>“Din Djarin,” you confirm. “Yes. Okay.” </p><p>He looks at the kid, who’s started to yawn again—Maker, you wish you had the ability to sleep as easily as the baby, a probable narcoleptic, but it would certainly pass the hours on the ship alone by much faster—and when he’s sure the baby’s asleep, he moves him gently, to the side. He slowly slides toward you, and he looks <i>so intimidating</i> in all the beskar, you’ve forgotten how commanding he can be when he’s fully masked and he’s not stripped down for you, and he straddles you, gently holding your chin like last night, and you gulp. </p><p>“Better remember it, cyar’ika,” he says, and his voice is so raspy and deep through the modulator, it sends tidal waves through you, “if you’re going to take it yourself someday.” </p><p>You gasp again. Actually, you’re pretty sure that you stumble through the noise itself as it makes its way out of your throat, and you swallow, throat suddenly dry and all that fruit you ate lifts and does somersaults in your stomach. </p><p>“Djarin,” you say, totally blissed out, your tummy still doing backflips, “I—”</p><p>And then, like fucking clockwork, you’re cut off by the screeching of the Crest. </p><p>You think you should be used to the ship screaming by now, it rebels like you did when you were a teenager, shooting through the treeline cover on Yavin to simply soar through the sky, repercussions be damned, but every time, it startles your heart like a fire alarm. You gasp as Din wrenches his whole body upward, off you and up the ladder in what feels like one fell swoop, and you grab the baby in one hand and the handhold of the lowest ladder rung as quickly as you can. When you recover, you grab him and hoist him up the steps, trying your best to put your feet where they belong and not miss the rungs entirely, and by the time you make it up to the cockpit, you’ve tripped twice and feel like you’re about to puke. Quickly, you strap in, even though you’re still on the Toydarian ground, because the last thing you want is a repeat of Dagobah, and you grab the baby and buckle him into his cradle, too. </p><p>“What’s wrong?” you yell, over the screeching, and Din slams some buttons on the dashboard. It looks like he’s just trying in vain until, as quickly as it begun, the noise stops. </p><p>“Shields,” he grunts, and then he’s throwing himself in the pilot’s chair, strapping himself in, pressing the familiar pattern of liftoff. “I put them on—after Malk got to us on Trandosha, just in case. They alert whenever someone’s on their way back to the ship—someone was about to breach the Crest.” </p><p>“Oh,” you say, gritting your teeth against the shaky liftoff. “Smart. But—will it yell like that when you’re coming back to it?” </p><p>“No,” Din reassures you, yanking the levers up and navigating the Crest off of the swampy surface of Toydaria, expert in his handling. “I calibrated it to our heat signatures—yours, mine, the kid’s. It’ll let us in, but it’ll keep everyone else out.” </p><p>“You’re so smart,” you gush, and then you realize how much like a lovestruck teenager you sound, and inwardly kick yourself. But then he glances back at you, and through the flush of embarrassment, you wheedle on, because you truly have nothing to lose, “my big, brave, bounty hunter boyfriend.”</p><p>“Maker,” Din sighs, but you can hear the smile in his voice, “shut up.” </p><p>“Make me,” you taunt, and his visor trains on the baby in his cradle, and somehow, against all odds, the little green child recognizes it’s not his time, and he shuts the lid. </p><p>“I don’t think you want me to do that,” he says, unbuckling his seatbelt and slowly making his way over to you. It makes you squirm excitedly, that slow, intentional way that he’s moving. You feel somewhat like prey, but when he’s standing over you, hands holding onto either one of your cheeks, you think maybe you’d enjoy being hunted by him. </p><p>“Why,” you manage.</p><p>“Because,” Din whispers, low and heavy through the modulator, “I’ll fuck you speechless.”</p><p>As if on cue, something dangerous starts blinking in the interior of the hull, and both of you mutter different curse words under your breath. Din’s hand slips off your cheek, tucks your loose hair behind your ear, storming back over to the console. </p><p>“Hold that thought,” he says, voice dark, “A bounty’s moving. She’s shifty, and if she disappears anywhere off the planet she’s on, it’ll be nearly impossible to find her. I’m sorry,” he says, and just the fact that he’s apologizing makes you nod, trying to coax your heartbeat back to a normal rhythm. “After this…I’ll show you where we…where I want to take you,” he promises, swiveling his chair around so he can look at you, “and then I’ll fuck you speechless.”</p><p>You swallow. You want to tell him it’s okay, that you know he has to go do his job, but how badly you want him to stay with you, to say fuck the bounty, fuck the Guild, but you know how incredibly selfish you’re being, how possessive that sounds. You tilt your head at him, trying to find the perfect concession, and you smile, head half-cocked when you settle on your answer. “In that order?”</p><p>“Not necessarily,” Din sighs, and you can hear how conflicted and heavy his voice is, even through the modulator. As you jump out of hyperspace and see the glow of the next planet cresting on the horizon, you wink at him, trying to tell him through your face that it’s okay that he needs to go—you’ll be right here when he gets back. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>You’re really trying your hardest to not ruminate on Din’s proposition. No matter how much the butterflies in your belly are doing backflips, fluttering like they’re carrying an entire planet with the sheer force of their wings, you remind yourself that proposition and proposal are two entirely different things, the similarity of the two combined with last night’s events…well, it would be enough to make anyone anxious.</p><p>You’re not exactly sure where you are, honestly. You forgot to ask Din before he left, when his hands lingered too long on either side of your face, the way you could feel him looking at you through the visor, could feel the heat of his gaze, even though you’ve never seen them in daylight before.</p><p>And then, before you can catch it, your stomach starts to roil with those same butterflies again, the new ones that sprouted with the way he was talking about marriage, about you taking his last name, about calling you his wife—you have to cut yourself off, or the lights behind your eyes might completely blind you. That’s a long way off—if it even happens at all—because you’ve only been with him for six months, maybe even a little less, you’ve stopped keeping track. That’s soon, isn’t it? Too soon? </p><p>You’re cut off by the baby staring up at you. You look behind you, quickly, because his gaze seems to be transfixed on a point right behind your head, but it’s just the wall of the ship, and nothing else is there. </p><p>“What’s up, baby?” you ask, hesitant, and then he toddles forward, and you outstretch your hands to help him into your lap, but the second he’s in your grip, he launches forward and presses his three-fingered little green hand against your forehead, and the gasp you let out is just as vivid as what he’s putting into your head.</p><p>Your eyes close, seemingly unvoluntary, as the kid pushes his palm against you. It’s dark in the kind of way that the gnarltree cave on Dagobah was, wet and purposeful. Like it’s not really darkness, wherever it is he’s guiding you, but it’s choosing to make itself seem that way. You flutter your eyes, but you can’t see the hull at all, it’s all what the baby’s trying to show you. Inhaling, you let yourself be taken away into the vision, and then, before you can react, you’re smack-dab in the middle of it. </p><p>It’s still dark. Muggy. Trees, but the planet seems barren and strange. You can tell there’s something intense and unnatural in the way the atmosphere is sitting over you, over your body, and you reach out a hand, trying to clear the haze. Suddenly, a figure appears, cloaked, with double white lightsabers, and you skitter backwards as the hood’s about to come off, and then the vision changes. It’s the end of the same one that you were shown in the cave on Dagobah, past Jacterr, past your parents, the tiny blip that you saw when you heard the torrential screech of TIE fighters and the baby being wrenched up into the air. You struggle against his grip, not wanting to see the horrible look on his face, the way he’s crying, and you turn, trying to shake yourself free from it, and Din’s there, so close to where these giant metal beings snatched the baby off the stone he was sitting on, distraught and racing forward, but no matter how hard you try to get to him, to pull him up the rocky mountain, it’s useless. Completely useless. Out of nowhere, there’s an explosion in your periphery, and you jump backward, trying to avoid the flame, and then you’re being hurtled back out of the vision, back to the present, and you can feel the baby’s shaking hand pressed against your forehead, and you shake your head wildly, trying to get his grip loose. </p><p>“No,” you say, gasping, “no, bug—you can’t just do that, not without permission, okay—that was not okay—what was that?” </p><p>He’s quiet. His eyes are still so big, moonlit, expressive, and the way he’s looking at you is so intentional. You know he’s trying to tell you something, something important, something he might not be able to show Din, and you’re terrified of it. He looks like he’s about to cry with your outburst, so, still shaking, you huddle him tight against your chest, smoothing a jittery hand over the peach fuzz atop his little head. </p><p>“Please don’t do that again,” you murmur, and when you pull him away to judge the look in his eyes, he nods, just slightly, so you know he understood you. “Can you—tell me, somehow, what you were trying to say?”</p><p>Hie eyes start to droop shut, and you sigh quietly, knowing it probably completely zapped him to get inside your head like that, give you a vision so vivid that it felt like you were there, so you try to coax your hammering heart back to its normal rhythm and let him drift into sleep in your arms, still completely shaking because of the vision. </p><p>As the baby sleeps, you’re still wide awake. You want to shower, you want to clean the ship to surprise Din when he gets back, you want to do a lot of things—but it’s like you’ve been completely paralyzed by what the baby showed you, the sickening swarm of visions that flooded behind your eyes If you close them, you just see his little face being wrenched up away from the ground, and you can feel his panic, and it makes you sick. So, you sit there until your eyes start to tear up, and make sure you only blink for a millisecond, trying to stave the visual off as furiously as you possibly can. </p><p>Your thumbnail slides in between your teeth, the bad habit you always swear you kicked years ago satiating your panic, just a little, but enough of a distraction, biting at the nail until it gives way to your grip. You’re not sure how long you sit there, biting your nails on your left hand down to the quick, eyes fluttering back and forth between the unfocused gaze you have of the closed armory and checking obsessively on the baby, making sure he’s okay. </p><p>You don’t remember when you found out the baby was Force sensitive. It could have been from the second you boarded the ship, honestly, it could have been the first time he used it, or maybe, the little sneaking voice that whispers at the back of your mind taunts, maybe you never found out and you just knew because…you’re Force sensitive too. The thought makes your breath hitch in your throat, catching somewhere halfway out of your mouth, the sound a horrible, choked thing. You think you should have known by now, that growing up in the remnants of the Rebel base, hearing the stories of Jedi Master Luke Skywalker and General Leia Organa, your father working with both of them at different times in his life, your mother friends with one of General Organa’s closest confidants—the Force didn’t follow you around. It surrounded you, it was always a part of your periphery, but with the cave on Dagobah, and with being able to see what feels like a vision of the future, not just an anxiety of the past…</p><p><i>Stop</i>, you think, trying to shake the idea loose, <i>all the Jedi are gone, the baby’s the only Force sensitive being that you—</i> The thought vanishes as you close your eyes again, taking the deepest breath you can muster. You’re still shaking from what the kid showed you, and you’re dreading closing your eyes and having the visions of Jacterr and your parents’ deaths there, too, but you try your hardest to push it all from your mind and just focus on your inhaling and exhaling. </p><p>You’re not good at it. Silence, clearing your mind—none of that ever happens when Din’s not around. His presence is so stoic, so enduring—he’s the only thing that makes you quiet, and more than that, makes your quiet sustainable. You have to fight every urge to not peek, to not flutter your eyelashes open to see the baby. The <i>baby</i>. You don’t open your eyes, but you strain to hear the low vibration of his even, steady breathing, and that focuses you. Trying your best to match his rhythm, you blow out air, letting your body center on the act itself. </p><p>You don’t open your eyes. The intensity of fighting that feeling has evaporated almost entirely, and you just try to keep your breathing even with the baby’s, mind as blank as it can be. The vision doesn’t come fully fledged like it did in the gnarltree, or like it did when the baby’s hand was against your forehead, but you see the edges of something familiar. You can see the stone the baby was perched upon, just a little, but it’s so fuzzy, and then, like you’ve rolled over in the X-Wing, the image changes. It’s dark, hazy, and the forest around you seems sentient. You look over your shoulder, unable to shake the feeling that you’re being watched, but when you turn around, whatever’s behind you has vanished, and you almost walk straight into double blades of white lightsabers—</p><p>“Hey,” you hear, suddenly, and then your name is being called out, “can you hear me?”</p><p>You shake yourself, hesitantly, out of the vision. “Yes. I—I’m here.”</p><p>Din sighs, the modulator evening out what’s left of his panic, and yours evaporates. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for two minutes. I was about to turn around and go back to the ship.” </p><p>“Wouldn’t have minded that,” you manage, pinching the bridge of your nose, still trying to get the afterimage of the vision out of your head.</p><p>“You would’ve when I got there,” Din warns, and warmth spreads through your body. “Why didn’t you answer your comm?”</p><p>You…don’t entirely know how to answer that question. You don’t want to give him false information, or to insinuate you might be Force sensitive simply because the baby put his hand to his forehead and you saw a vision that you’ve already seen before. There was that new bit at the end with the white lightsabers, but that could have just been something you don’t remember. And, besides, being Force sensitive would unwaveringly put a bounty on your head, and it wasn’t fair to Din that he’d have to protect the both of you just because you had a tiny hunch, a little inkling that there’s something slightly different about you—</p><p>“Cyar’ika?” Din asks, and his voice is low, urgent. Commanding, even. </p><p>You swallow. “The baby was sleeping,” you say, and it’s not a total lie. “I was just cleaning, and I didn’t have it on my wrist.” That one was, but it’s okay, he’ll never know. </p><p>“Cleaning,” he deadpans, and when you realize his insinuation, heat rushes to your cheeks. “Is that what you’re calling it now?” </p><p>“No,” you say, and then you realize it’s better if that’s why he thinks you were being hesitant. “Well, maybe, a little. I’m lonely. The baby’s asleep, and you’re gone again…” you trail off again, sinking back against the floor of the Crest. “It’s just boring here without you to thrill me, that’s all.” </p><p>“Am I?” he asks, and the timbre of his voice makes all the warmth that flooded your cheeks a second ago comes and seeps back down your entire body, settling wet and hot in the spot of your belly that anchors deep in your pelvis. “Thrilling?”</p><p>“You’re a big, bad bounty hunter,” you counter, and Maker, you can <i>feel</i> him rolling his eyes, all the way from here, even under the mask. “Of course you thrill me.” </p><p>“When I get back,” he says, “I’m going to do just that. And then,” he continues, and the connection cuts for just a second, and you lean forward in excitement, “—gonna fuck the words ‘big bad bounty hunter’ out of you.”</p><p>“Well,” you say, ignoring how hard your heart is hammering, “if anyone could.” </p><p>Din sighs, wet and heavy, and you lean your head back against the wall, one hand up to your lips, the other pressed against the ground. He’s had you in this spot so many times, you realize, as your palm hits against the cool floor. When he examined your stomach way back on Bespin, when he held you up by sheer will of his mouth alone, when he fucked you for the first time, when you sat on top of him the night before—it’s all been on this spot, up against this wall. </p><p>“I miss you,” he admits, and the honesty of it, the vulnerability of it, shakes you from your reverie. “It’s—it’s been so hard to tear myself away from the ship—from you, recently.” </p><p>You stare at the blinking commlink for a second, trying to figure out how to respond. You know it hurts him when you tell him how badly you want him to stay here, forever, how the barest, most selfish parts of you want him to give up bounty hunting and just run away to some deserted planet with you and the kid, but you can’t. You know this is what you signed up for, this is what you wanted, this is where you <i>belong</i>, but those sweet little blips of bliss on Naboo make something domestic and nostalgic ache deep inside you. And you’re happy here. You’re so happy here, and you know that you shouldn’t be wishing for something more, but you are, and that’s not fair. So you just bite your lip and try to figure out how to convey this to Din in a way that isn’t whiny or in an ultimatum, and your eyes unfocus from that flickering light. </p><p>“I meant it, you know,” he says, and you inhale sharply, the locus of his voice suddenly drowning everything else out. “What I said last night.”</p><p>“What part?” you manage. “The part about this only taking a handful of days, or the part about…me marry—taking your last name?”</p><p>“Both,” he sighs, and something swells in your stomach. “I’m a man of my word, remember? Besides, I…I wouldn’t lie to you. Not about the bounty, which…” he trails off, and you hear him adjusting, “I have eyes on her, finally. And not about…forever.”</p><p>You know what he means. You nod, swallowing, fingers closing around the Rebel insignia on your necklace. “Darasuum,” you whisper, like a vow, like a prayer, like something in between, and when he repeats it back to you, you know exactly what both of you are trying to say. </p><p>“I’m going to grab her,” Din says, finally, and you can hear the movement through the modulator. “And then, when I get back, you know what’s coming next?”</p><p>“Mm?” you ask, entirely distracted by how quickly, how easily, he just promised you forever again. </p><p>“I’m going to fuck you,” he says, and it’s such a brazen thing for him to say as you hear the crowds of people slowly starting to surround him that it makes your tummy flip over. “See you soon, cyar’ika.” </p><p>“Hurry back,” you manage, and you can feel the mirror image of his smile reflected on your own lips as the comm clicks off and you let him go. </p><p> </p><p>Hours pass. Maybe days, you’re not really sure. You’re used to the waiting game, as excruciating as it is, but time seems to blur and collect in strange fragments this time. You dance around with the baby, play catch and release with him and his metal ball. You clean up the ship, the grime from the last time Din was here, and you check on the carbonite bounties. Both of them look angry, menacing, but you push them together, letting their malice clink off into carbonite, knowing you have the upper hand. After the one Din brings back today, you only have one more before returning to Nevarro for more pucks, and maybe you can work on your defense skills enough to venture out on new planets for new quarries the next go around. After you defended him and wrangled the quarry away into the freezing gas on Trandosha, you’re pretty sure you’ve redeemed yourself in his eyes for the slipup on Bespin, and the major fuckup on Dagobah, and you think that if he just helped you practice fighting back a little bit more, you would be quicker on the draw and be able to properly defend yourself—and the baby—off the Crest. </p><p>After parsing that half-baked plan over and over, you shower, letting yourself sing loudly and without fear, because the newly calibrated airlocks give you a bubble of safety, and you whittle down songs you’ve collected across the galaxy while lathering Din’s soap everywhere. The scent has stopped being something thrilling, the smell doesn’t make your heart flip over anymore. It just smells like home. </p><p>The shower’s quick, too quick for your liking, but you want to save some water over for Din if he wants to use it when he gets back. You’re almost glad that there’s no indicator of time on the Crest other than your commlink, because you’d drive yourself up every wall if you had to watch the minutes he wasn’t with you tick by in a way that felt like hours.</p><p>And, then, suddenly, like it was nothing, he’s back. You assume your usual position, put the baby in Din’s cot, and you thumb the trigger on your blaster, just in case you’ll need it. The bounty isn’t anything like how you pictured. When Din said she was dodgy, this…wasn’t what you expected. With the terrifying precedent the Twi’lek set, you expected Din’s next female quarry to feel just as dangerous, just as sharp. </p><p>The woman looks to be about seventy, give or take. She has kind eyes, deep set in her face. For a minute, you’re seriously wondering if maybe the woman isn’t the bounty after all, that maybe she’s just a friend Din found, or someone in need, but as you take a step closer, her face contorts and—well, you know it’s not Jacterr, but she sure as all fuck looks like him. </p><p>You recoil. The image isn’t perfect, the hair is off, and the set of his lips isn’t a mirror image, but it’s close enough to make you gasp and stand back. You want to run, you want to do a lot of things, but you just thumb your blaster, trying to not show her—him?—any fear. </p><p>“Stop that,” Din says, and kicks the Achilles tendon of the changeling and you watch the creature shudder and shift through what feels like dozens of different faces until it settles back on the kind old woman that you saw when they first boarded the ship. “If you shift again, I’m killing you and throwing you off the ship, not letting you live long enough to collect money for you. Understood?”</p><p>You usually hate when he talks like this, when he has to get violent and aggressive to intimidate the bounties, but right now, you’re thankful that he’s so commanding, so demanding. The changeling growls at him, and then, before you can realize what’s happening, the smile of the old woman fades away into green skin stretched taut over high cheekbones, mouth evaporating into a much smaller line, facial features deconstructing and building, until you realize it’s a Clawdite. You’d never met one, but you heard of the stories of changelings that helped infiltrate Rebel missions, and that’s enough to shudder once she’s shoved into the carbonite and Din looks at you. </p><p>“Hi,” you manage, heart still thumping from seeing Jacterr in the Clawdite’s face, and you try to swallow through your dry mouth. </p><p>“Cyar’ika,” Din sighs, and the way the word contorts through the modulator, dragged out and glorious, you feel your belly flip over again. You want to react, but he’s across the floor to you in less than three strides, and then he’s in front of you, and you can feel the beskar press against your skin. He has both hands enveloping your face, and his knee is at the crest of between your legs, and you just gaze up at him, wordless. “Close your eyes.” </p><p>Before he even finishes the first word, they’re squeezed shut. You feel one hand leave your cheek, and then you hear the melody of the helmet disengaging and you sigh happily as Din drops it somewhere behind him on the floor. </p><p>When he kisses you, it’s like he’s starving. You know the way that his lips drag around you like an anchor, you know how much he needs to devour you and your sweetness whenever he comes back—but this is somehow even more intense than the last time the two of you were separated. It’s like you’re this elixir of eternity, and he’s going into the dregs to savor every single drop. It astounds you, barrels you over, and you just let yourself be taken by the tides as Din’s mouth meets yours again and again.</p><p>He’s made his way down to your neck, sucking on the bruises of old hickeys that are half healed from the other night. You gasp as his tongue swipes over the pulse point just before where your collarbone juts out, and your arms go up and involuntarily tangle in his hair. You can feel the way that your fingers make him buckle under your grip, and you can feel the way that his body sags against yours. Really, it’s a miracle that the two of you are still standing, because you’re just using the centrifugal force between both of you to stay upward, and it doesn’t take long for you to lean into Din’s kiss, and topple both of you over. </p><p>“Sorry—” you start, but his lips are on you again, and you let him pull you into your lap like he did the first time the two of you kissed, and you’re cut off, the noise escaping your mouth as air. You hum as Din’s hands find your hips, then your back, then tangled in your hair. </p><p>“Missed you,” he murmurs, tightening his grip in your hair so that your head bends backwards, his mouth a magnet against your jawline. “Don’t think—you taste <i>good</i>, pretty girl.” </p><p>You mewl, trying to make your hands move so that you can touch him the way he’s touching you, but he’s practically got you in a chokehold and trying to do anything feels impossible, so you just slump into his touch, completely helpless as Din’s lips travel over your mouth, your chin, the valley between your head and your collarbone, sucking small kisses into you, semi-permanent marks of him blossoming over your whole body like ivy. </p><p>“I missed—you,” you choke out, finally, as his mouth fixates on the hollow of your collarbone, “so much—” </p><p>And then, because of <i>course</i> it does, your stomach grumbles. Only once, but it’s loud, and it rips through you and deafens whatever you were trying to say. </p><p>Din pulls away. Immediately. </p><p>“No,” you start, and even with your eyes closed, you know he’s looking straight at you. Sternly, like you imagine he looks at the kid underneath the helmet. “No, Din, you <i>promised</i>—” </p><p>“Have you eaten?”</p><p>“Not since the baby gave me breakfast,” you admit, sullenly, and then you feel him disappear from you and you hear the hissing of the helmet clicking back into place, and you open your eyes to scowl at him. “But you promised you were going to fuck me speechless—in those exact words, I may add—and you’ve kept leaving, I just want you.” You’re well aware that you’re whining, and you know damn well that whining doesn’t budge Din one bit, the baby’s tried it and usually there’s no dice, but you can’t help it. “Please,” you offer up, a total afterthought. “What if I just devour you instead?”</p><p>He’s just sitting there. You know he’s waiting for you to shut up, but you don’t want him to, so you keep trying to fill the silence until all the words run dry.</p><p>“You done?” Din asks, and you roll your eyes, just a little, and then his thumb swipes over your cheek. “Don’t be smart with me, cyar’ika.”</p><p>“I just want you,” you repeat, and for some reason, the words sound like you’re on the edge of tears, and Din takes your hand up in his two gloved ones again, and you sigh against his touch. </p><p>“I know,” he says, quietly, and you just stare at the visor, looking back at your own disheveled reflection, “but I left two and a half days ago, and if you haven’t eaten since breakfast that the kid gave you seventy-two hours ago, I think it’s high time we get you fed.”</p><p>“But—” you start, and he shakes his head at you.</p><p>“Besides,” Din sighs, and then you hear cooing from his hulking, armored figure, “I think the kid’s hungry, too.”</p><p>You slump against the wall of the ship. You know that you’re hungry, that you should really let Din go and get something for you to eat, but you don’t want him to leave again. You don’t think you could handle watching him walk out of the Crest again, really, not after the mystery of his proposition, and not after realizing how agonizing it is when he’s gone—it’s just the crush of all your feelings at once, and you watch as Din picks up the baby, slides the kid’s metal ball into his tiny green hand, and something in you softens. </p><p>“Okay,” you say, trying not to sound too disappointed, “but hurry back, please.”</p><p>Din cocks the helmet at you. “What do you mean?”</p><p>Your eyebrows furrow. “You’re—don’t you have to leave the Crest to get food?”</p><p>“Yes,” Din answers, slowly, “but you’re coming with me.” </p><p>It takes you a second, but the realization that he’s not leaving you again collides with your heart as it makes its way back up from where it sunk deep in your belly a few minutes ago, soaring back up to its rightful place in your chest. “I am?”</p><p>Din pulls your blaster from where you dropped it on the floor, letting you stick it against where you have it strapped against your thigh. He appraises you up and down, something that would have made you nervous with the intensity of the helmet’s gaze on you, but he just pulls down your jacket from where it was resting on his cot, and wordlessly, you put it on, staring at him. </p><p>“The town is a little bit of a walk,” he says. “The climate’s nice, but it’s cold under the trees.” </p><p>You nod, wordless. “Is it—safe?” The words sound stupid the second they leave your mouth, because you know that Din wouldn’t even suggest it if you were somewhere dangerous like Coruscant or Trandosha, and he’s probably even more cautious after your cave incident on Dagobah, but he nods.</p><p>“Safe enough for you and the kid,” he allows, disengaging the airlocks, and you watch the gangplank descend. It isn’t as green as you were somehow picturing it to be, but there are flocks of wildflowers between patches of tall grasses, and if you look in the distance, there’s snow dotting the tops of hulking mountains that jut out of the northern end of the planet. The sky is light pink. “It’s—it’s pretty. You’ll see.”</p><p>You nod, and Din extends his hand, and suddenly, you’re being pulled forward, gently, the three of you a slightly staggered line, the baby on one side, and you on the other. There doesn’t seem to be another soul around, just the three of you out there in the wilderness, the Crest a mechanical beast behind you, and the three of you make your slow, eccentric way down a beaten path through the trees that Din must have returned to the ship through. You can’t help but marvel at their canopy—there’s greenery hidden and peeking through the overhang of long blossomed yellow trees, and the leaves fall as the trees drift in the wind, decorating the three of you as they make their slow, gentle descent to the ground. </p><p>“Where are we?” you ask, completely awestruck, spinning around underneath the trees, watching tiny glimpses of the waning blue sky above you as you’re moving forward. </p><p>Din’s looking at you as you twirl, catching leaves with your open hand like you’re a kid. </p><p>“Naator,” he says, quietly, and you spin back to face him, narrowly escaping catching your foot in a gnarled root from one of the trees. He catches you with a hand around your waist, simple, easy, and you beam up at him. </p><p>“This really does seem safe,” you manage, finally, staring up at him. “What was a bounty doing here?”</p><p>He pulls you along, gently, and you watch your footing a little more carefully in between your wonder of the trees around you, retreating deeper and deeper along the path, the trees guiding the winding road to where you assume town is. </p><p>“She’s not dangerous,” he says, lowly, and you glance up at the helmet. “Typically…I don’t like to bring in the ones that have just made a few mistakes. The ones that have hurt people, the ones that have killed or worse,” he cuts himself off, sighing, “that’s a different story. She got mixed up in some trouble, and she’s able to transform her face to look like someone’s worst fear, which is why she…did that.” </p><p>You swallow, trying your best not to remember the contours of Jacterr’s face being transmitted onto the changeling’s. “That wasn’t…I didn’t like that.” </p><p>Din sighs again. “I didn’t like it, either. When she did it to me.”</p><p>“What did yours look like?” you ask, confused, trying to keep up with his long stride. He doesn’t respond for a long time, and when he does, it’s to answer your question before. </p><p>“She was hiding out here. It was inevitable, someone would get her. Karga only wanted me to bring her in because he thinks that she’s reformable, she has a shot. I wouldn’t put it past Cara to take her in and help her.”</p><p>You look up at Din again, stopping for a half-second to pick up a gorgeous yellow leaf and hand it to the baby’s little green fist. He coos in delight as you give it to him, and you flash him a giant smile before you catch up with his dad. “I want to meet her,” you say, lowly, because you’re not sure if you totally do, because as much as you try to fight it, you’re a little jealous. “Cara.” </p><p>Din stops, and it’s so abrupt you nearly trip over another patch of uneven ground. “Next time we’re on Nevarro,” he says, finally, his helmet cocked to the side. “You’ll…you’ll like her, I think. She’s the first real friend I’ve made in—well, years, really.”</p><p>Your heart is still hammering possessively in your chest, and you’re trying to fight it, and you know this was a rabbit hole you went down voluntarily,  but you still feel like you’re being crashed against the ground with it. “Oh?”</p><p>Din nods, and the three of you start moving again. His fingers find your hand, and with the way he’s linking them in yours, you know he’s trying to show you there’s nothing to worry about. “We met on Sorgan,” he says, “back when I first got the kid and was trying to find him a safe home with people like him.” The helmet turns to observe the baby, whose big green ears are cocked back, listening in clear rapture to his father retell the story. “We got into a brawl, really, and then we ate soup.” The words don’t seem to connect, and you make confused eye contact with the baby to ensure that Din wasn’t oversimplifying—or, you know, having a stroke. The baby nods, eager. You nod back, incredulous. “She met the kid. Then—well, it was kind of against our will—we ended up getting contracted to help out this small fishing village before we left. There was Imperial occupation on the planet, and they got close. Too close.” He breathes, lifting his hand up as he helps you navigate your step over a particularly large root. “I met someone there,” he says, finally, and the way he says <i>someone</i> makes your heart sink all over again. You know you’re being ridiculous, that you have no leg to stand on, no place to be jealous, especially knowing that he’s yours, and more importantly, you’re <i>his</i>—but Maker, you <i>are</i>, and that hurts so bad. </p><p>“Someone?” you ask, faintly. You feel like a teenager. </p><p>Din looks at you, and you feel pinned with his gaze. “One of the villagers. She was kind. Helped the kid, helped me. Understood the Creed, but pushed me to have a life…outside of it.” </p><p>“Oh,” you say, dazed again. Jealousy is a burning pyre in the pit of your stomach. “That’s…um, nice.”</p><p>Din looks at you, and you try so hard to smile at him, to act like nothing is wrong, but he knows you too damn well. “She was kind. Warm.” </p><p>You nod, clenching your jaw. “That’s nice,” you repeat, faintly, after you realize he’s waiting for you to speak.</p><p>“Cyar’ika,” he says, quietly, “She told me that there was a life outside of all this. Fighting, hunting people.” </p><p>You nod again. You feel dazed. Why is he <i>telling</i> you this? </p><p>Din rockets out in front of you, facing you all of a sudden, and you nearly walk flat into him. “I’m trying to say,” he starts, sighing, “I left. She said we should stay, that the kid would be happy there—but I knew that I wouldn’t have been. I would have been restless, at that point—eager to prove, impossible to sit still. And the entire galaxy was after the kid then, just like they are now, but I didn’t know what to expect.” He pauses, grazing a thumb over your cheekbones, and, despite everything, you let yourself fall into his touch. “I didn’t think I could settle down,” he continues, quietly, “because I couldn’t stay tethered to one place. I didn’t have anywhere—or anyone—to build a home in, long-term.” He cups your chin, forces you to look directly into the visor. “Do you—do you know what I’m getting at?”</p><p>“Um,” you manage, completely deafened by the blood rushing in your ears, “are you—uh, telling me this to make me jealous?” The last word doesn’t even come out fully formed, and by the way his helmet jerks back and forth, you feel stupid all over again, because of course he isn’t trying to make you jealous, or trying to hurt you, but you don’t know what he <i>is</i> trying to tell you. </p><p>“<i>No</i>,” he says, forcefully, and then he sighs out a few stuttered words, half of them in Mando’a, from the sound of it, and then he sighs and steps closer to you, so you have no room but to look up at Din and the yellow trees reflected in his visor, woozy and completely controlled under his grip. “Maker, <i>no</i>. I’m trying to tell you—that there wasn’t a home for me on Sorgan. There wasn’t a home for me anywhere, not Nevarro, not on the Crest, nowhere. But with you—home is everywhere with you. Home is—your nest on the floor, or in the hull with you in the copilot’s chair behind me, or out on safer planets like here and Naboo.” He pauses, sighs, and then clears his throat. “Cyar’ika, I’m—I’m trying to tell you that you’re home. You’re home because you make me feel safe wherever we go, and you’re home because you transverse the entire galaxy with me and you make home wherever we go. The woman on Sorgan, Xi’an—” your heart clenches, again, but you just let Din keep talking because you’re afraid if you interrupt him, he’ll never stop, “it didn’t matter. There would never be home with them, because they’re not you.”</p><p>You gasp, knees buckling against his grip. “Oh,” you say, again, so dazed. You have no idea what your heart is doing, but if you had to take your best guess, it would be doing cartwheels inside your chest. You try to form a thought, any thought, not even a solid, coherent one, but it won’t come. You look up at Din, tears threatening at the corners of your eyes, and then, slowly, you grab at his neck, pulling the visor down to tip against your forehead, closing your eyes against the reflection. The beskar is cool and unyielding under your touch, but you think that you can imagine the feel of his skin, tan and soft, up against yours. You want to say something. You want to tell him you love him, the thought so persistent that it takes everything in you to bite it back, but you don’t want to say it, not yet. The moment is perfect, you know that, but there’s still something holding you back, so finally, finally, you open your mouth. </p><p>“Yavin was home,” you say, quietly, trying to steady your voice. “Yavin was home, and then it wasn’t. And then Dantooine was home, but not really, and then Coruscant—well, you know Coruscant wasn’t home—but ever since then, I’ve been planet-hopping, trying to find a place that felt like home.” You swallow, your throat so dry. “I didn’t. Until I walked onto the Crest for the first time. And I’m not gonna lie,” you say, barreling right over yourself, “when you’re gone, it feels like a prison, sometimes, an eternal hell. But when you’re back, it’s everything—everything I’ve always wanted and never had for my own.” You swallow, licking your lips. The metal against your forehead is starting to warm under your touch. “You’re home,” you say, echoing your same words from when he slept in your arms, the same sentiment when he asked if you ever missed home. </p><p>Din pulls his forehead away, and you want it back, but then he holds your face in his hands again, and you’re staring at the visor. You know he’s trying to work up the courage to say something, to do something, because his silence is so palpable, so energetic, but you don’t want to talk over him, so you just let him puzzle it out. </p><p>“Cyar’ika,” he says, quietly, and then he says your name. It still gives you butterflies in your stomach, the way his gilded lips contort around the syllables, and you hum. “You’re the only one. You’ll—you’ll always be the only one.”</p><p>You touch your fingertips to the side of his helmet, mimicking the way you did all the way back on Naboo, trying to convey your love through just touch.  </p><p>“You’ll always be the only one,” you echo, finally, and, before you can stop yourself, you press a small kiss to the place on the helmet where Din’s lips are. He freezes under your touch, just for a second, and then he pulls you in close.</p><p>“Keep your eyes closed,” he whispers, and you do, and then the helmet is disengaged, and your heart does backflips with the knowledge of how much he’s risking. But before you can freak out, before you can tell him it’s okay, he doesn’t have to do this, his lips are on yours. It’s just for a second, a fleeting moment, and then his helmet is back on, but you just stare up at him in wonder—in complete awe of the sacrifices he makes for you, like you’re already family, like it’s nothing.</p><p>You glance at the trees, the lines that are cut into other woven paths through the woods, and you know it’s futile, it’s useless, because Din wouldn’t have chanced lifting up his helmet if he hadn’t already checked in his helmet for the heat signatures that don’t belong to you or the baby. But, still, your eyes focus on the trees as the three of you walk the path, and eventually the dirt collects into gravel and gravel collects into a more even walkway, and a small town blossoms up at an opening within the trees. Everywhere, there are handfuls of yellow leaves all over the town, small spots of sunshine dusting the entire ground. There are people here—not many, but enough of a small village—and they all look completely different. There’s a few humans, but there are handfuls of alien species, some which you know, and a lot that you don’t. There’s a small tavern, which also looks to be the market, and there are colorful clotheslines strung haphazardly across the village. People look at you when the three of you enter the town, but their gaze isn’t as interrogative and intense as it usually is on the rare occasions you and the baby leave the ship with Din. They look interested in you, but not in a way that makes you feel like you’re on high alert. Friendly, you realize finally, that’s how they look. There are gaggles of children, families, and no home looks the same. There are huts, pods, small wooden houses, and even the ones built from the same materials look wildly different. </p><p>It’s a real settlement, you realize, swallowing back the tears that are again at the corner of your eyes, hot and quick. This isn’t some temporary living space—this is home to the people who live here. It’s home in a haphazard kind of way, home like you had on Yavin. You watch as the baby reaches his little fingers out to a girl who runs up to him, and then the small gaggle of kids that run up after her. They’re interested in him, and by the way his eyes glow, you know they’re safe. </p><p>“This is,” you start, choking back tears, “beautiful.” The visor turns toward you, and you manage a watery smile. “I haven’t seen a homestead like this in years. This is—some sort of haven,” you say, and the yellow trees swaying gently in the wind above you catch your eye again. They’re soft and warm, and without even realizing it, your fingers find the Rebel insignia on your necklace. You run your thumb over the smooth metal, worn down over years it’s spent on both your neck and your mother’s, and you know that they’d love it here. Your parents. They might miss the fast-paced nature of the Alliance, but—this is where you can imagine they’d retire one day, after the Empire was finally gone for good. </p><p>It’s bittersweet, but the way the thought buoys your heart is enough to fall into hope. You know that Din needs to travel, that he’ll never be truly satiated in one place, but maybe—maybe, later, sometime in the future, you three could come back and stay awhile.</p><p>“Hey,” you whisper, leaning into Din’s stance a little, and he relaxes. He isn’t really looking at you anymore, the visor steadily trained on the baby and jerkily moving, enough that you know he’s continually scanning the area of any potential threats. You run a hand down his forearm, and his visor settles on you. “Is this—the place that you wanted to take me?”</p><p>He’s quiet, for a second, so you prompt him of the conversation you had when he first left the Crest a few days ago. “No,” he says, finally. “I wanted to take you here to show you it, to get you food, but…no. The place I’m taking you comes next.”</p><p>“Next,” you say, raising an eyebrow. “I get two excursions?” </p><p>“Yes,” Din says, seemingly confused. You follow him, gaze locked on him like a tractor beam as he finds the baby, picks him up, and sets him in his hovering egg. “You’re—you’re not my prisoner, cyar’ika. Sometimes, when it’s a dangerous bounty, or when it’s not safe for the kid, I need you to stay on the ship and protect what’s ours.” Your heart flips over at the word <i>ours</i>, and you follow Din as he strides towards the tavern, which is really an extended lean-to against the market, with haphazard tables and chairs. “But I know you can handle yourself. You’re not helpless. You always save the baby, and yourself. You’ve saved me more times than I’ve saved you,” he elaborates, gesturing at the sturdier of the three tables, and you sit down, wordless. “You were a Rebel pilot. I trust that you can hold your own.” </p><p>You squint up at him. It’s not that you don’t believe him—you know you’re softer than most, you’re kind, you weren’t raised on a trigger finger like most of the people you know. You like to see the best in people, and you try not to walk face-first into danger, it just usually…finds you along the way. But you held your own against multiple bounties, you pushed Xi’an back into that carbonite gas, you defended both the baby and Din from Malk a few bounties ago—and you worked up the brute strength, both mentally and physically—to kill the man who abused you. But hearing Din say all this aloud, hours after you had worked up enough courage to tell him that the Crest was starting to feel like an isolation chamber rather than home when he was out chasing bounties—well, it feels coincidental. </p><p>Except for the fact that you don’t believe in coincidences. It feels intentional—not necessarily on your part, or on Din’s, but—it’s the same kind of gilded grandeur that you feel with him, that great glitter of your cosmic connection. It’s something more. </p><p>“I can hold my own,” you echo, too late, “And I understand that sometimes, it’s too dangerous out there for me and the baby. But…waiting for you is agonizing sometimes. Even if I can just run errands when you’re gone, on the safer planets—” </p><p>“You have a deal,” Din interrupts, and you weren’t even close to the end of your bargaining, but you just nod at him, mouth wide open. He holds his gloved hand out to you, and you shake it, smiling as you feel the warmth of his palm through the fabric, and when you’re done, he reaches out to tuck the hair that’s been hanging in your face behind your ear. </p><p>“Besides,” you say, and your grin is so full of shit you can smell it, but it’ll be worth it to just see him react, “I’m a woman of my word, especially when it comes to my big, bounty-hunter boyfriend—”</p><p>You’re cut off by the waitress, which is probably for the best, and you do your best to bite back the grin into a smile more suitable for strangers, pointing out whatever dish had the most vegetables in it as you try to ignore how hot Din is burning across the table from you, giving you the entire Mandalorian intimidation stare. As he orders and watches her retreat over your shoulder, he points one finger at you. </p><p>“Speechless,” he warns, and it’s in his ragged, deep voice, the one that shoots places deep and low inside you that you can’t even identify, “remember, cyar’ika?”</p><p>You gulp. He doesn’t take the visor off you once for the rest of the meal. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Apparently, the sky glows at dusk. It starts as the planet’s sun starts slipping over the horizon, and continues into a gorgeous shade of pink you didn’t think could even exist. You keep darting in and out of the canopy covers as the baby tries to keep up with you, and at every angle, every time you catch a glimpse of the sky, it’s pinker and pinker. </p><p>“Wow,” you say, voice faraway and faint. “This is…this is the prettiest place I’ve ever seen.”</p><p>You can feel the heat of Din’s eyes on you, even under the helmet, even through the visor. “Yeah?”</p><p>You nod reverently, trying to keep the tears leaking at the corners of your eyes from falling down. You can’t help it, really—you’ve seen beauty practically everywhere you’ve traveled before, but both this place and being on it with Din and the baby feels prettier, lighter. </p><p>You step towards him. Just one, but then his arms are reaching out, and one locks, magnetic, against your hip. You sigh as the other hand finds your face, thumb stroking over your cheekbones. “Most bounties hide in grimier places,” Din murmurs, and the timbre of his voice through the modulator makes everything in your body flood over. “Dark alleys. Forgotten cities. Planets where they can blend in.”</p><p>You see the warped reflection of your face in the visor, and you bite your lip gently, bouncing up on your tiptoes. Din’s hand moves to support your lower back. </p><p>“I haven’t ever been here,” he says, voice quiet. “But I’ve—I’ve heard it. In stories. From the Mandalorians that took me in, but mostly from my mother.” He sighs. The only other time that he’s ever mentioned his parents—or offered anything up about his past without specific reason or your questioning—was on Naboo. You just stay silent, nodding slightly, trying your best to make sure that he knows you’re listening. “She used to talk about Naator. I didn’t know it by name. I don’t remember her ever mentioning it. But the sky, the pink sky…I know this was the place.” </p><p>“It’s beautiful,” you echo. “I like it here.”</p><p>“Home is the ship,” Din says, lowly, and you can tell that he’s struggling to find the right words. They come out around his sighs, noisy and prolonged, so you just pause and let him hold you while he finds his footing. “The Crest. It has been for years. But…when we talk about forever, I don’t focus on the chase, the bounties. I don’t think I can ever say stationary,” he admits, dragging his gloved thumb across your cheek again, “it’s just not who I am. But this place—Naator in general, but this part of the planet—it’s quiet. Peaceful. I can see myself—here. I can see us here,” he finishes, and you smile. </p><p>“Me too,” you whisper, both of your hands cradling around his helmet. The beskar is cool to your touch, the tempered metal so much stronger than you are, but you just place your palms against where his cheeks are hiding, and try to permeate it the best you can. “I’ll go anywhere with you. Anywhere.” You swallow, and your eyes dart over to the baby, whose gaze is both captivated and sleepy, and you smile. “If we have forever, we can spend part of it in this place.”</p><p>Din doesn’t say anything for a while. And you don’t feel the need to fill the silence. You just let the air go into a vibrant pink dusk, the light of the planet leaving sleepily, soundly. You stare up at Din, transfixed and bound in the way he’s holding you. </p><p>“Let’s go back,” he says, voice low. “I—fuck,” he mutters, and you squint at him. “I—I want you,” he admits, tone gravelly. “Need you, cyar’ika.”</p><p>You beam. “Is all this talk about settling down making you hard?” It’s half a joke, but then his helmet tips up and down your body, and his fingers slip off your waist, cupping your ass for a fleeting second, and you burn.</p><p>“What did I say about speechless,” he warns, and you tip your head back.</p><p>“I’d like to see you try.”</p><p>If you could see his eyes, you know they’d be flashing at you. His hand encircles your wrist, not forcefully, but <i>hard</i>, and you yelp excitedly as the three of you make your way across Naator’s gorgeous darkening surface, butterflies a mess in your stomach.</p><p>The Crest feels like it’s farther away, but maybe that’s just because you know you’re both eagerly running out the time on the clock. That wet heat between your legs is pulsing and loud, and you can feel Din’s grip on your arm tighten and release as he tries to control himself as you both stagger back to the ship. Somehow, miraculously, the baby has decided it’s time for him to sleep, and you stand on the gangplank as Din makes sure he’s safe and sound within his carrier, looking out at the dusk, pink sky as the sun runs off into oblivion. You’re going to turn back to the Crest when you can feel Din come up behind you, and your breath tangles in your throat. </p><p>His body is so large compared to yours. It’s not about height, it’s not about breadth—there’s just something about the way his figure stands that eclipses you, over and over, like an endless collision in the sky. The beskar is cool against your skin, and you realize as an afterthought that he’s slipped off your jacket, and the metal against your bare shoulders makes you shudder in the best way possible as you lean into him, surrendering to his touch. You don’t say anything. He says even less, but you can feel him as he presses into you, how hard he is underneath his clothes and against yours. You gaze out at the darkening sky, completely blissed out, as Din’s glove comes forward into your line of sight, and you know why he’s extending his hand. You reach forward, tentatively, with just your mouth, and his thumb anchors between your teeth. His gloves must be filthy, really, you don’t ever see him wash them, but the taste of metal and smoke and earth is both comforting and invigorating, and it slips off his outstretched hand with ease. You just let it hang there, dangling from your mouth, heartbeat catching somewhere up in your throat. Din pauses with you, and when he realizes that you’re just going to stand there and let him do whatever, his hand disappears from your line of vision and spills down your chest. The flimsy shirt you put on is no match for him, not even a little bit. His fingers dip between your tits, crawling underneath the fabric, and your breath hitches again.</p><p>“Do you care about this shirt, cyar’ika?” he asks, and <i>Maker</i>, his voice is so low and wet in the modulator that you feel like you could pass out on the spot.</p><p>You shake your head. Vigorously. “No,” you squeak, and then it’s ripped clean off you. You gasp as the top half of your body is almost entirely naked, and your eyes dart wildly in the trees, and something like sheer glee flits across your face. It’s exhilarating. You never thought you were one for voyeurism—with ships in the skies, who could really have privacy—but Naator’s atmosphere is still pink and dark, and you haven’t seen a single ship since you touched down here other than the Crest. </p><p>Din’s hands grab handfuls of your skin, pinching at your nipples to coax them into being even harder, and even though the chill of the night and the excitement of being so exposed out here in the open has taken care of that already,  you can feel yourself stiffen against his touch. You feel the way that he twitches against your ass, and you hum, tipping your head back into his armored shoulder as his hand roams further down, and another glove appears on the periphery of your vision, and you reach your teeth out to remove the fabric. Din takes advantage of the slight distraction—his bare fingers slide in between your pants and your skin, and you yelp as you feel them slide in between your legs. </p><p>“You’re wet,” he says, and stars, it’s like he’s <i>marveling</i> at it. </p><p>“For you?” you choke, “Always.” </p><p>He exhales, heavy, and his fingers dip lower, lower, lower—and then they’re inside of you, and you’re practically leaping to give him more momentum. “You’re perfect,” he grits out, and you moan, loudly, but you don’t even have the energy to conceal your moan. You’re pretty sure if you were any louder, you’d make the yellow trees rustle with the wind of it. “Everything—so wet, so warm—perfect, sweet, sweet girl.”</p><p>“You’re,” you gasp, “gonna make me cum if you keep talking like that.”</p><p>“Well,” Din says, and then his fingers slide out, and you whine until you’re being whipped around, and his other hand is ghosting around your throat, “cum, then.”</p><p>You can see your sweaty, disheveled reflection in the visor. The blissed-out version of yourself, drooling and wide-eyed, looks like she’s an entire mess. And then Din’s other hand yanks your pants down, and you moan as he sinks his fingers inside you again, two of them, curling them as you practically scream with the feeling of it. You feel like everything on the planet has been rushing to your head. This side of him—wild, uncontrolled—is shades darker than you’ve ever seen him, but then, the visor tilts at you, and his other hand finds the same spot on the cheekbone he was stroking when he told you forever, and the leftover intimacy from the moment makes everything flood out of you backwards.</p><p>You’re pretty sure you black out. You’re not sure how much time passes when Din works you through your orgasm for the first time, but you can see in the visor how you look. The appearance would make the sober, regular version of yourself hang her head in shame. But you just see how hot he’s making you, how easy it is for him to rile you up, and for some reason, that just turns you on more. Before you can conjure the words to tell Din that you came, he nods at you.</p><p>“I know.” He gently guides your shaking body to the grass around you. It’s tall, almost knee-high, and you imagined that it would feel itchy, sharp, but it just feels soft. After, you realize that Din laid down his cloak for you to lay on, but right now, you’re just staring at him, vision blurry. “You speechless yet?”</p><p>You look up at him, practically cross eyed, squinting. “Um,” you start, “well—” </p><p>“Nope,” Din says, and then his fingers are sliding in between your shaking legs again, “not yet.” </p><p>Your head lolls back, and you can see a smattering of crystalline stars start to wink above your head. You would ordinarily be preoccupied with them, the gorgeousness of their pulsing, the way they’re shining on, a luminosity so bright it permeates entire atmospheres, but then you hear Din’s voice, and you come back into the moment. </p><p>“What?” you manage. </p><p>“Close your eyes,” Din whispers, and your stomach flips over at least twice as you squeeze your eyelids together in harmony with the hiss of his helmet disengaging. “Keep them there, cyar’ika. Understand?”</p><p>“Ye—ah,” you say, the syllable cracking down the middle. “Eyes closed.”</p><p>“Cyar’ika.”</p><p>Your head lifts, just a fraction, eyes still shut. “Yes?”</p><p>“Stop talking.” </p><p>You want to retort. You really do. You spent so much time on the Crest while Din was out hunting the bounty talking a big game, telling him that it would be impossible for him to fuck you speechless, that you’re really quite loud when you have the chance to be, that he normally prefers you loud, anyways, and that he’d have to be <i>hard</i> with the way that he fucked you to make the words stop, but your eyes are closed and you can smell the fresh air and <i>Maker</i>, his tongue is in between your legs. </p><p>It’s involuntary, it really is, but your legs launch upwards at the first feeling of his tongue licking up your slit, and they lock around his shoulders. And you would apologize, but the <i>noise</i> that comes out of Din’s mouth, wet and hot against you, makes every single thought just evaporate out of your mind. You stay there for what feels like an eternity, just letting him do whatever he wants to, because you’re in no mood to argue. He eats you out like you’re the only thing on the earth. Every time, you think that your body is all that satiates him, but the next time he tastes you, it’s like he’s never had one before. You moan, an uncontrollable shaking mess, and when he moves his mouth up to suction on your clit and brings those two fingers back, it hits something so divine inside you that you pass out, right there in the grass, fingers locked in wafts of dark hair, ears buzzing, eyes still closed. </p><p>“Speechless yet?” Din whispers, and then he’s moving, roving up your body. </p><p>You whimper.</p><p>“Kiss me,” he breathes, and even though your eyes are still shut, you find his lips, and he tastes like you, salty and desperate, and he licks a pattern into your mouth. It’s devastating, how much you love him, how he makes your heart beat in every single inch of your body. It’s a whole flood, all of it, just completely overwhelming. “You ready to go?” he asks, softly, and you shake your head vehemently. </p><p>“No—not,” you breathe, “not speechless yet.” </p><p>“Cyar’ika,” Din says, and it’s almost like he’s scolding you for it, and you try to ignore how your pussy clenches. “I just wanted to get my hands on you.”</p><p>“Talk a big game, Mandalorian,” you slur, and you can feel how he goes rigid against you, cock pulsing through the fabric. You can feel him start to leak on your skin. “Show me all of it.” </p><p>“Oh,” Din says, voice strained, “you shouldn’t say those things.” </p><p>“Mean it,” you taunt, and even though you feel like your legs are an avalanche of collapsing bones, you want him to fuck you. More than anything, you just want to make him cum, even if your body is this ragged and limp and you can’t suck the soul out of him like you want to, return the favor. And yeah, it might not be the best move to actively antagonize your trigger-finger big, bad, bounty hunter boyfriend, but you’re one of two beings in the entire galaxy that he’ll be this soft and loving towards, and sometimes you want to see him rough. “’m all yours.”</p><p>“Cyar’ika,” Din chokes out, and you blindly grab at the waistband of his pants, pulling off his armor. “I’m—I’m not going to be gentle. Or long.” </p><p>“Don’t want,” you start, as you try to find his cock in the air, and when he leans into you, thick and hard, you moan again, “you to be.”</p><p>“You sure?”</p><p>You nod. Positive. You want to see him, you really do, but the helmet’s off, and you don’t feel like you can conjure the will to ask him to put it back on when he’s already risking so much, so you just lay there, asking him in your silence what he wants you to do. “Whatever you want,” you manage, and his breathing is strangled, rough. “Do it. Everything’s yours.”</p><p>The air is impossibly silent, for a second, but then you feel Din’s body press up against yours, and he still has the fabric of his shirt on, but then he’s pressing the head of his cock up against you, and you nod, not caring how clothed he is, or how clothed you are, or anything, because when he pushes inside you, it’s agonizingly slow. You gasp against the weight of it. It doesn’t hurt, exactly, it’s just like this feeling of swelling in your stomach, deep and wet, hitting places only he can. And then he’s pulling back out, and slamming into you again, out and in, out and in, and you can’t even find the places in your mind that words belong to, you just listen to Din absolutely fucking pound into you, his breath cresting like he is inside you. “Sweet girl,” he chokes out, “cyar’ika—you’re—fuck, you’re so <i>warm</i>, you’re perf—” he gasps, and you feel his hips buck up against yours, and you try to find where his neck is, and you bury your face into the crest between his shoulder and his head, and something about the movement jars your eyes open, just for a second, and all you can see is dark hair you were holding onto for dear life and the stars above, and you can hear Din just moaning against your ear, guttural and low, tongue licking and pulsing against the skin there, and you just try to close your eyes while he’s pounding you, try to hold yourself there.</p><p>“’M gonna cum,” he warns, and you tilt your pelvis up, “<i>fuck</i>,” he whispers, and then you feel it, you twitch with him, and the way he’s coming undone up against you is enough for one more shuddering orgasm to work its way out of your body, and then the both of you collapse into each other, fighting the night for air. You’re both speechless, now, and you want to make a joke about it, but then you hear something horrible above you, and your eyes shoot back open to see a silhouette of a TIE fighter screeching through the air.</p><p>“<i>Fuck</i>,” you scream, grabbing the helmet from where it’s laying in the grass, throwing it at Din’s shrouded figure. “Put this on—shit, D—Mando, I’m not looking, I promise—” </p><p>“Go,” he says, shoving your clothes into your hand and you pull your pants on as you trip, running up the gangplank, “move, move, move—” </p><p>You pull him into the Crest as the TIE fighter circles back around, red blasts ricocheting around where the gangplank has been anchored into place, and you grab a spare shirt from the alcove as you run up the ladder behind Din, who’s already in the pilot’s seat. You look around, wildly, for the baby, and as if you’ve conjured him, his egg flies up next to you and you cement it in your arms as Din pulls the Crest up, hard. You’re careening towards the atmosphere, absolutely in fight or flight mode, you know, but you can’t let the town you just left get decimated by troopers who are probably looking for him or the kid, and panic gallops in your chest.</p><p>“Din,” you start.</p><p>“Hold it,” he says, voice low and tight, but you can’t. </p><p>“The village,” you whisper, and, after an agonizing second, you hear a sigh, guttural, but intentional, and then the Crest is swinging around, heading straight for the fighter it just tried to knock out. Din fires, once, twice, and then on the third it hits right where it needs to, spiraling the enemy ship out of the sky. Your heart flips over at the look of it burning and smoldering on the grass that felt immortal just minutes ago, but when you see another one on the horizon, everything you want to say just catches in your throat. </p><p>“I’m gonna lose them out there,” Din says, lowly, and you’re not entirely sure he’s talking to you or the baby, but you don’t really care. You nod and try to keep your lunch in as he takes the Crest in a wild zig-zag, catching the eye of another TIE fighter and rocketing into hyperspace as the two chase you both.</p><p>This never used to scare you, outrunning the Empire, but this isn’t the Empire, anymore, it’s a darkened, cannibalized version of it, and you know that by joining your little clan of two, there’s a target on your back because you love Din and the baby, and because they love you. It’s more responsibility, this way—after your parents died, you were just fighting for the Alliance, and you didn’t really care if they were suicide missions. But now? Now, you’re flying with your family. </p><p>The fighters follow you into warp, but then Din pulls out of it, and the three of you launch forward with the impact, but before they can hop out into the same corner of space Din pulled out into, he’s turned the Crest upside down and shot them both down. You wince as the fighters incinerate on themselves, giant booms of exploding stars, but then everything is quiet.</p><p>“That was close—” you start, and the screech of another howls over you, and Din hits it, but doesn’t explode it. The fighter pops out of warp, and you look around, frantic, and by the time your eyes are back on the front window, you’re heading straight down to the planet. “Did we lose him—?”</p><p>“Probably not,” Din mutters, and you bite back your panic as you crest through the atmosphere. You can’t tell where you are, everything is dark, but you trust him, so you let him just maneuver the Crest into someplace silent. “We’re safe here for the night, at least. If he comes down here—I can handle it.”</p><p>You look up at him as he swings himself out of the pilot’s seat. “Din—” </p><p>“I can handle it,” he says, singing the baby into one hand and touching your face with the other. “You’re exhausted, cyar’ika.” </p><p>You want to argue, but he’s so good at making you feel safe, quiet—you feel the tiredness as soon as he mentions it, the sleep leeching under your eyelids. “Sleep with me?”</p><p>Din looks down at you, sighs, and then squats down to your eye level. “Handled that already,” he says, and you roll your eyes, following him down the ladder, “but whatever you want.” </p><p>“Mm,” you manage, already so sleepy. When you climb into his lap, his hands tangle in your hair. You’re still on edge about the fighter, but it’s so dark in here, and Din’s so warm, so impenetrable—you’re half asleep by the time the words work their way out of your mouth. “Hey Din? Are your eyes brown?”</p><p>You may have dreamed it, may have hallucinated it, you’re not sure. But by the way his hand freezes in your hair, the same reverent gesture he’s shown you since the first time you came aboard, loaded with intention in its halting, you know he heard you. </p><p>He leans down, and you’re expecting to hear his voice through the modulator, expecting to hear him tell you to sleep, btu you know how much he risked for you today. How much truth was in his word, every word—that you’d be the only one, that you’d always be the only one, that there’s only forever between the two of you, his helmet off in the tree-lined path and then again when his head was between your thighs—well, maybe he just realizes that he’s already trusted you with so much, he can trust you with this, too. </p><p>His voice comes out unmodulated, lips pressing up against your tired head, when he gives you his answer. It’s one word. One huge, colossal word. </p><p>“Yes.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!!! I HOPE YOU'RE LOVING IT!! as always, i'll be hanging around here, tumblr (amiedala), and tiktok (padmeamydala) all night if you wanna drop me a comment &amp; chat about the chapter!!</p><p>it's truly such an honor and great joy to be sharing Something More with y'all!! i feel so blessed to have gotten such a lovely, lively group of people that stick around for my writing!! </p><p>CHAPTER 15 WILL BE UP 7:30 PM EST ON SATURDAY, MARCH 27TH!!!</p><p>xoxo, amelie</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. To Hold in the Heart</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Ni kar’tayl su,” you whisper, and you feel Din shift against you. </p><p>“What do you know about me?” he asks again, voice low and thrumming in the dark hull. </p><p>“You’re a masochist,” you yawn, and hearing his laugh—a real <i>laugh</i>—unfiltered and unmodulated—makes your heart soar in your chest. “You like being the protector, but you like being taken care of. You’ve never taken your mask off for anyone to see, not since you were a kid. Your sense of family is the Creed and what you’ve learned from us,” you swallow. “You don’t eat unless you have to, because it’s a necessity and not a craving. You have absolutely no clue about what happened in the Rebel Alliance, you hate the sand, you—” you rustle up against him, pressing your lips against his neck, “hate leaving me.”</p><p>“I do,” Din says, voice faraway. “Always have. Always will.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this chapter is a GIANT creature of emotions, i hope y'all love it!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When you wake up, Din’s missing.</p><p>Well, you don’t know if he’s missing, but he’s not there. You remember the way his lap felt, warm and secure, and the cold of the Crest’s floor is a chilling, disorienting thing to wake up to in his absence. It’s dark in the hull, dark everywhere, and you pull the blanket up closer to your chin as you squint around for a hulking figure outfitted in full armor. Zip. Zilch. Nada. And you know that logically, he’s probably just picking up some food, or more bacta that you’ve been dangerously low on since Dagobah, or he’s upstairs in the cockpit, or in the little alcove, but something feels wrong. Off. </p><p>You fight the sleep out of your eyes and sit up, patting the floor around you for the commlink that you know you left in a haste to follow Din on Naator. It’s blinking red, and when you find it, you tap furiously on the thing, trying to connect with Din’s comm, it gives you nothing.</p><p>Okay. Now you’re panicked, because usually Din’s comm is linked in his glove, and his glove’s not here, which means he left the ship without charging the comm. You look around, frantically, for the baby’s egg, and you pull him up and out of it without checking if he was awake. He was not, in fact, awake, and he starts crying the middle you jostle him from his slumber, so now you’re trying to scour an empty hull for Din, who may have just disappeared without a clue, his commlink, or telling either of you, and you’re comforting the sobbing child, all while trying not to panic. Which you’re failing at. Miserably. </p><p>“It’s okay, baby,” you say, trying to soothe him, but he keeps looking at Din’s bed like he knows his father is gone, and if one more tear leaks out of those big bug eyes, you’re going to start crying yourself. You don’t know what to do. You don’t even know what planet you’re on, if you’re still in the Mid Rim…Nothing. You’ve got absolutely nothing. </p><p>That gets you. A hailstorm of tears starts gearing up behind your eyes, and you can’t do anything to stop it. You pull the baby’s head in close to your chest, trying to soothe him without letting him know you’re also crying, but trying to lie to a very sentient Force sensitive being who’s also double your age is not the easiest thing to do. </p><p>Your fingers fly to your throat, and after maneuvering them around the baby, you grab the Rebel insignia and, miraculously, it grounds you. You breathe. One, two, three, and then you’ve made a decision. You grab your blaster off the floor, transfer the baby to your other hip, and start to hoist yourself up the ladder. The Crest has Din’s heat signature linked to it, and even though it unlocks when he’s reached the vicinity of the ship, maybe you can bring the ship to him. You’ll just fly slowly around the area you’re at, and if that doesn’t work, maybe you can figure out if the Crest has tracking software encoded within the dashboard to find Din. You don’t really know how the mechanics of it work, you’re not used to piloting anything larger than your X-Wing, but you’ve maneuvered the Crest fairly well in dire situations, and you can figure this out. </p><p>You’re just about halfway up the ladder when you hear the airlocks click off. You freeze, only for a second, but you hold the baby up so you can tell him with your eyes to hide, and once you’re both clumsily down the steps, he launches himself in his cradle for protection, and you push it into the alcove that houses Din’s bed. You steel yourself, pressing most of your body up against the dip in the wall where the armory is, pulling your blaster out of its holster and inhaling. </p><p>The waiting for a potential enemy to enter the ship never gets easier. That anxiety lives, palpable, inside your chest, and it’s almost deafening. You only have a second to gear up and get ready, but it always feels like a complete blip before the gangplank opens. When it does, you have to squint through the darkness to make out the shape, and it moves towards you so quickly that you have no choice but to jump out and point it—at the person wearing Mandalorian armor, standing, intact, right in front of you.</p><p>“Maker above,” you exhale, the blaster abandoned on the floor. You barely have time to catch your breath before Din’s enveloping you in his big, strong arms, and the fear of the situation melts away. “You scared the shit out of me.” You back away, running a hand through your disheveled hair, trying to look as intimidating as possible staring up at him. “Why were you out there? Without your commlink? Why were you out there without your commlink? And without telling me?”</p><p>“Cyar’ika,” Din starts, and you cross your arms, trying hard to look stern, “I didn’t take my comm because I was only going to be gone for a few minutes, and I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to wake you up.”</p><p>“Oh,” you say, miffed, and then, with more backbone, “Minutes?”</p><p>“When did you wake up?” Din asks gently. “I’ve been gone twenty, tops.”</p><p>You look from your nest on the floor to up in his visor, heart sinking when you realize it’s probably only been five. “I woke up long enough ago to realize you were gone,” you say, and he sighs, pulling you in toward his chest. </p><p>“I was going after the TIE fighters,” he sighs, and your throat clenches. “I got them both, hid the wreckage, and disabled their tracking systems so more can’t follow us here. I didn’t take my comm because I knew how quick of a job it would be, and I didn’t want to wake you up. I didn’t mean to scare you.” </p><p>“Thank you,” you whisper against his chest, and then you look up. “Where are we?”</p><p>Din cocks his head at you, and without taking his visor off you, he releases the gangplank. You’re in the middle of the forest, greenery alive and gorgeous. Tears fill your eyes at the sight of it, and then you smell how fresh the air is, and then you have to blink them away. It’s not Yavin, because the trees here don’t match the ones back home, but it’s so reminiscent of the place that used to be your home that nostalgia is a butterfly in your chest. </p><p>You step out of the Crest, hesitant. The last time you were freely exploring a green planet was when you almost got yourself ran through in that creepy cave in the gnarltree on Dagobah, and absolutely no part of you wants to repeat that particular string of events. The ground here is different—more earthy, more solid. It’s mossy and green, but it doesn’t give way underneath your feet, and you can trek across the plush to get over to one of the massive trees, fingers lifted up to brush against the roughness of the bark. It’s huge, far beyond anything you’ve ever seen. The greenery here, the sheer enormity of it, eclipses even Yavin. You tilt your head back the farthest that it can go without toppling you over, looking up at the sky. There’s three moons orbiting through the cloud cover, one tinted orange, peeking back at you. Your eyes fill with tears again as you try to spin around, breathe the air in, and absorb the gigantic greenery all around you. </p><p>When you compose yourself, and stop spinning, you land clumsily on both feet and find Din’s visor. It’s cocked at you, and you’d bet everything you owned that he was smiling at you underneath it. </p><p>“This is,” you start, choked up, “beautiful, Din.”</p><p>He steps toward you, just once, and you melt happily into his arms, booping the baby’s nose as you fall into Din’s embrace. “This was my proposition.”</p><p>You squint at him. “Finding a place on Naator to settle down in wasn’t the proposition?”</p><p>He looks at you, and then back up at the trees. You know that he’s trying to tell you something with the exaggerated way his helmet is tilted up, but with the emotional turmoil he’s put you through in the last ten minutes, your half-asleep brain is struggling to keep up. You look around at the trees again, and he points out at the looming forest behind you, and something clicks. </p><p>“Where are we,” you manage. It doesn’t even come out sounding like a question, because you already know the answer.</p><p>“Kashyyyk,” Din says, lowly. “This was always the plan. Knock the first few bounties off, come here for a few days. You love forests,” he adds, and his voice is so gentle through the modulator that it makes the rest of the tears in your eyes feel like they’re about to burst free, “Kashyyyk is basically one giant forest. I wanted to—” he cuts himself off, looking at the baby, then back to you. His hand finds your face, and you lean into the roughness of his glove, your heart beating overtime. “I wanted to show you this place ever since you told me about Yavin.”</p><p>“I’m—” you start, but he’s still talking, so you try your best to hold back all the gratitude you can feel overflowing inside you. </p><p>“I’ve never taken a bounty on Kashyyyk,” Din says, voice still so low and quiet. It’s like he doesn’t want to speak too loudly, like what he’s telling you is a secret. Or, at least, intimate. Something for you, and you only. “I’ve taken bounties everywhere else, practically, from one edge of the galaxy to the next. Before you, before the kid—the moral code I stuck to was purely Mandalorian. In and out, efficiency—that’s how I operated. But then I met you,” he continues, and you can feel a tear slip down your cheek, “and I realized that there was more than just hunting. That life could be…something more.”</p><p>You stare up at him, trying to comprehend what to say back, something meaningful enough to hold onto and give him, something concrete and pure and contains everything he means to you and more. “It can be,” you manage, finally, “life. It can be something more.” </p><p>Din nods, jerkily. You lift your hand up to the helmet, first one, then the other. You’re holding it in your grip, all this hulking metal, and the man behind it. You want to kiss him, but you know that you’ll have to go back inside for that, because after the last time he went uncovered in public, a TIE fighter almost blew the both of you and the Crest to bits. You hold him there, though, suspended midair like you did on Naboo, when he let you show him what happiness looked like between bounties, between planet hopping. </p><p>“Cyar’ika,” he starts, and you feel your eyebrows lift, biting down on your lip. He’s quiet, just staring back at you. “Close your eyes.”</p><p>You hesitate, just for a second, because you have no idea how empty the planet is besides the wreck of the two fighters after you, if there’s sentient life here beyond small creatures of the forest, but you trust Din, and you know he trusts you. You’ve only seen him in glimpses—his silhouette in the dark, the small fraction of his face, the hair you’ve grabbed fistfuls of when he’s in between his thighs, the freckles and skin you’ve got eyes on when you were patching his wounds, both internal and external—but even on Naator, when he took his mask off, the sun was drifting over the hills and you were completely under canopy cover. You’re in the middle of the forest, with open sky above you, with potential people deep in the woods, and he’s trusting you enough to take his helmet off and protect him when he’s at his most vulnerable. If you didn’t know what love felt like before, you do now. </p><p>You close your eyes.</p><p>And then the helmet is disengaging, and everything goes dark, just for a second, and then his lips are on yours, and everything else melts away. Usually, when you’re kissing him, it’s in the hull of the ship, and he can be as hungry as he wants. The few times that you’ve kissed him outside of the Crest’s safe haven, it’s been fast, intentional. So fast you barely registered it before his helmet’s back on. But here, Din takes his time. You hear the dull clanking of metal on the ground around you, and then he’s seizing you, practically lifting your feet off the forest floor with the gravity of his lips, a magnetic beam pulling you into him and him alone. Your eyelashes flutter as they press up against his—his brown eyes—and you squeeze them shut harder, trying to savor every second. When he does let you back down, your knees are wobbly, and you stand there, trying to remember what standing is supposed to feel like. </p><p>The helmet clicks back on, and you look at him, lips swollen from the kiss. You want to say so much. You want to tell him you love him. You want to stay here, forever, but then he’s grabbing your hand, and you’re staring at it before you realize that he’s trying to lead you somewhere.</p><p>“Where are we going?” you start, and at the sound of your voice, the baby and his egg are in close pursuit, and Din’s gently pulling you down a beaten path in the middle of the trees. </p><p>“You didn’t just think the proposition was a forest planet, did you?” Din asks, and you make befuddled eye contact with the baby. </p><p>“Um,” you say, “was bringing me to a forest planet not the main…objective?”</p><p>“Of course not,” Din says, and you try to match his long stride, looking up at him, confused. “I promised you something else.”</p><p>“You are really cryptic when you want to be, you know that?” You try to exchange looks with the baby again, but the little green guy seems to have his own agenda as he looks up at the trees. “Promised me what? Oh, fuck,” you say, hand flying to your mouth as you see the baby’s ears perk up. “Din, um…Din, are you…proposing to me?”</p><p>You almost run straight into him when the hulking figure of Mandalore’s best armor comes to a very sudden halt in front of you. “Cyar’ika,” he sighs, and, Maker, he sounds so much more patient with you than you would have been if the roles were reversed, “believe it or not, leading you into a forest is not a proposal. Also,” he says, turning around, and you gulp as you look up at you’re your entire vision the shiny metal monochrome statue, “I told you, when I propose, you’ll know.” </p><p>“What if I miss it?” you ask, trying to keep up with him. Your feet keep narrowly escaping giant roots that are plunging deep not the earth around you. “Like, what if you propose and I just completely misread the situation? That would be embarrassing.”</p><p>“There is literally no way you could miss it,” Din says, and even through the modulator, you can hear his weary smile, “silly girl.”</p><p>You exchange looks with the baby behind his back. “I am oblivious sometimes.”</p><p>“No,” Din says, and then he’s stopped short again, and this time you do collide straight into him, forehead slamming against the beskar, and you stop, rubbing your head from where you hit it. “Not when it comes to me,” he whispers, and you look up at him, metal silhouette flanked by thousands of giant green trees. You nod, swallowing. His gloved hand reaches up and brushes across your sore forehead, and you offer him up a half smile. Din’s hand travels from your forehead down your cheek, and then it’s in the air, and then it’s clasped around yours. “I’m a man of my word, remember?”</p><p>You nod again, and then look at the baby, whose big eyes are wide and happy, and you smile. “I remember,” you echo, softly, looking back to Din’s gloved grasp against your skin, a stark contrast. “Let’s keep moving.” </p><p>With your word, he does. He’s such an expert at navigating the rough terrain. You’re pretty sure that he has some sort of infrared or tracking software hard wired into the helmet, because he’s just always so intentional with his footing. You haven’t seen a lot of it up close, but seeing him move around you right now is just proof of how intimidating he can be when you’re at the bad end of his weapons. </p><p>You’re keeping up with him, though. Even though the three of you are largely silent as you walk deeper and deeper into the woods, you’re impressing him right back. Gnarled roots of trees plunging deep into the earth and dodging heavier branches are both things you can do in your sleep. Growing up on Yavin, the ground was just as uneven, disrupted by trees and greenery and built in to all the larger runways and landing platforms. Before you could fly, you could walk, and you could always last the longest in the forest. You were so enchanted by all of Yavin’s gorgeous greenness, and you swallow the lump in your throat knowing that Din had seen that your love for the forest shine even when you were hesitant about your birthplace in every conversation. He knows you. Some part of you thinks he always has. </p><p>The walk is long. You’re definitely not as accustomed to walking this much, anymore, you haven’t been completely on your feet trekking places since you were a kid, and every time you need to stop, Din waits patiently as you throw yourself down on the big roots or stones around the path and try your hardest to not deplete the entirety of your water supply. You’re stripped down to your undershirt with your hair piled high on your head, sweaty, ears ringing. </p><p>“How close are we?” you ask, breathless, offering your flask up to Din.</p><p>He shakes his head, pushes it gently back to your mouth. “Close.”</p><p>“Close in Mandalorian terms?” you tease, but you really want to know what his definition of close is, because Maker, you’re pretty much zapped from this walk alone, “or by—y’know—regular human ones?”</p><p>“I am human,” Din says, “couldn’t you tell from all those times that you’ve seen me naked?” and your eyes glaze over, staring at him, before you realize that he’s joking. </p><p>“Funny joke,” you say, breathless, downing the last drop of your water. “You’re funny.”</p><p>“Cyar’ika,” Din counters, and you fall silent, smile still ghosting across your lips. “We’re almost there.”</p><p>You nod, heaving yourself to your feet. You take his hand again, watching the baby as he lags just a foot behind the both of you. That tiny hovering cradle doesn’t look half-bad right about now. You can feel your legs lagging as you focus on stepping on the right places on the ground, all of that precision the only thing your mind can focus on. And then finally, just as you’re about to ask Din to stop again because your lungs are heavy in your chest, the forest disappears. </p><p>The trees, sprawling and huge everywhere else, just seem to vanish behind you the second you step onto a black, sandy ground. Your foot is confused—your boots haven’t seen sand in years, really—and you nearly twist your ankle on impact from that first step. Once you’re sure you’re not going to topple over, you glance up and your breath catches in your throat. </p><p>It’s beautiful here. The sky is clouded over, and the sand is a deep, rich black, so you’d imagine that the water would be a shade of grey in between the two, but it’s not. It’s vivid, electric-shock blue, the kind that you’ve always dreamed about but never got to go to before. Your eyes fill with tears as you run towards it, completely abandoning Din’s hand, and you’re so absorbed in making a beeline for the water that you don’t hear him calling after you until he says your real name. You turn back around, incredulous, almost angry that he’s keeping you from running straight into the waves, but one hand is outstretched, gloved finger pointing at something across the beach. </p><p>Slowly, your eyes track where Din’s pointing, still fighting the urge to strip down and run straight into the water, and then your eyes register what you’re seeing. The shape of it, this hulking exoskeleton—it looks exactly like the ones you grew up around on Yavin. Your eyes flicker to Din, and back again, and then when you’re absolutely sure you’re seeing what you think you are, tears run down your face. You can’t control it, and something in your body moves you like a tractor beam. </p><p>It’s a starfighter. It’s old, you can tell by the wear and tear on the exterior, the worn paint, the stains from being abandoned here, but it’s intact. You haven’t seen one of these since you left the Alliance, since you moved away from Yavin. It’s not an X-wing, but it’s something similar, and the second that your hands make contact with the metal, you can feel it. Everything that’s been cooped up and festering inside your chest, the whole of your life before meeting Din and the baby, it’s like it’s unhinging itself from your heart and flooding out everywhere. You’re crying, slobbering, really, and you collapse into the sand, hand dragging over the shell of the cockpit as you curl up on yourself, eviscerated. </p><p>“Hey,” you hear, “cyar’ika—hey, what’s wrong, sweet thing?”</p><p>You choke back another sob as Din reaches you, launching himself down beside you in the sand. You can’t really speak, but you point at the ship, trying to compose your words.</p><p>“Cyar’ika,” Din whispers, folding you into his arms, “I didn’t mean to upset you—this was supposed to be a good surprise—?”</p><p>“It is,” you wail, and you’re positive that if you could see his expression right now, he would be completely dumbfounded. “I’m—I’m not upset.”</p><p>“Well,” Din says, and you can see him pulling off his gloves through your blurry vision, and then his hands are on your face, wiping away tears, “your face is telling a different story.”</p><p>You swallow, reaching towards the helmet. It’s still strange to grab his face through all the metal, but you do anyways. “I’m just—emotional,” you manage, shuddering through the words. “This is the first time in years I’ve seen one of these.” You look up at him the best you can. “This was my dad’s ship. Not this exact one, obviously, but he flew a starfighter. I—I saw the trees, earlier, and thought for a split second we were back on Yavin, and then after this—I just got emotional.”</p><p>Din’s hand drags through your hair, and you lean into his touch. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, and his apologies are so rare that his words make you want to crumple even more.</p><p>“No,” you say, shaking your head, “no, don’t be sorry—you brought me here, Din, you brought me to a forest planet with—this gorgeous fucking water—and this ship—wait, why did you bring me to the ship?”</p><p>Your eyebrows furrow, looking up at him. Sure, he knew that you loved the woods, that you loved the water, because those are conversations you’ve had before. But—he couldn’t have brought you here to this planet because he hid this ship here for you—you haven’t been apart from either him or the Crest on a single mission, and unless he snuck away, stole a ride, and hopped from the Outer Rim all the way here while he was out on a hunt…how did he know where it was? You’re about to ask that follow-up question, instead, and then you realize he’s talking. </p><p>“I found it last night,” he says, gently, and you lean into where his whole palm is resting against your cheek. “When I went after the other fighter. It must have crash-landed here, or maybe it was abandoned. It’s still functioning.” He looks up at the metal of the wing, and back down to you. “I wanted to take you down here regardless, but then I saw the starfighter, and it just sealed the deal.”</p><p>“Why—” you start, vision still oscillating between him and the ship over your head, “why did you want to take me to the ship?” A million horrible thoughts bubble up inside your head, and full-fledged panic starts to take over when you realize there’s no room for him or the baby in there, and Maker, if he’s trying to give you this ship, you can’t take it because there is absolutely no part of you that wants to leave the Crest—and then Din’s talking again.</p><p>“Do you remember back before I left on Trandosha?” he asks. </p><p>You remember seeing a sliver of his face, and the truth burns a bit in your stomach. You swallow again, nodding gently against his question. Then you realize you have no idea what he’s referring to if it isn’t that glimpse you got, and you shake your head instead. </p><p>“You said you’d fight me.”</p><p>You blink at him, completely befuddled. “Fight you?”</p><p>He nods. “You sat in the pilot’s seat, wouldn’t move until I threw you over my shoulder. Then you told me you would fight me for the position, and I said that you wouldn’t dare.”</p><p>You bite your lip, looking at him. It’s slowly coming back to you. “You said I’d need to make you. Beat you, actually, I think.”</p><p>Din brushes his bare thumb across your face again, and all that panic in your chest a minute ago has completely dissipated. “And I said if we can find another ship on a planet that’s safe, I’d let you try to shoot me out of the sky.”</p><p>You stare at him, and then look back at the starfighter, and then back at Din. “Are you—” you inhale, looking at the empty cockpit, leaning back to look at the guns attached to either wing. “Are you serious? You want me to try to shoot the Crest down?” </p><p>“Cyar’ika—”</p><p>“Are you a complete masochist?” you squeak. You can hear the laugh filtered through the modulator, and you try to stand up, ducking under the wing and pressing yourself up close to Din’s armored body. “You want me to get in this starfighter—one that I’ve known how to pilot my entire twenty-five years of living—and try to shoot you—and our home, I may add—out of the sky?”</p><p>“You said you’re a good fighter pilot,” Din says, simply, “prove it.”</p><p>“Are you or are you not a masochist,” you repeat, bewildered, “because this is—” </p><p>He leans in, helmet brushing up against your ear, and you shiver. “I’ll answer that if you can ground me.”</p><p>“Masochist,” you repeat, pointing your own finger out at him, still completely confounded. You try to exchange glances with the baby, who’s sitting comfortably in his egg. “Your daddy’s crazy,  bug.” </p><p>He coos at you, and you agree, and then Din’s lifting off into the sky. “Hey! Mandalorian! The baby—”</p><p>“He’ll stay on the ground,” Din yells, over the noise of his jetpack, “be our judge.”</p><p>You look back at the baby, bewildered. “You’re okay with this, baby?”</p><p>He nods. You nod back. You face the cockpit, closing your eyes, letting muscle memory take over. It’s much bigger than the X-wing, but it’s sleeker, sturdier. You’re up and in the cockpit before you realize it, making eye contact with the baby one last time. You don’t like that he’s on the ground, unprotected, but you watch as the cradle floats up to the forest behind the beach, almost completely camouflaged. You turn to the dashboard in front of you, all the controls barren until you push the right sequence of buttons to make the lights come on. The headset is large, clunky, not at all streamlined in the same way that yours was before you crashed the X-Wing, but you adjust as the ship fully gears up, smelling like fuel and water, and you sigh, leaning back comfortably in the seat. It feels like it used to. The thrill, the exhilaration, right alongside all the safety you feel enclosed in a cockpit like this. You don’t need any hand-to-hand combat, any quick movement, any blaster. Not when you’re behind the wheel in the sky. You’ve seen Din at his peak, protector, fighter—now he’ll see you at yours. </p><p>The Crest explodes from behind the trees, and your belly flips over in excitement. You pull the starfighter into the air, the hum and whine of the engine and the sound that the controls make when you grab them feels so familiar. You grin. </p><p>“What are the rules?” you ask into the microphone in your headset, and the radio flips through stations until it connects to the Razor Crest.</p><p>“Shoot to stun,” Din says, and you flash him a smile you know he can’t see. “Don’t disarm me over the water, she’s a bitch to dig out.”</p><p>“Got it,” you say, all the emotion from earlier rippling off your back. Your arms are so steady. You could do this in your sleep. “Anything else?”</p><p>Din’s quiet for a second, and you crack your neck waiting for your chance to go after him. “Don’t go easy on me.” </p><p>You bite your lip. “Careful what you wish for, Mandalorian,” you croon, and you can hear him sigh through the modulator, through the comm. You don’t pull your punches. You accelerate, swooping up and around the Crest, whooping as you circle in the open air, the blast from your ship ricocheting off the trees. You have a full view of Din in the cockpit, and you’re not sure if he can see you, but you wink at him as you slam the ship forward, heading directly for his lasers, ready to bail out the second he starts firing. </p><p>He tries to hit you on your tailspin, but you know how to dodge it. You’ve fought off ten TIE fighters at once before. And those were with droids, programmed to take you out by any means necessary. You used to hide in the treeline on Yavin, waiting for anyone else to climb up in the sky and race you places. You’re not reckless anywhere else. You’re soft and you’re gentle and you try not to hurt anyone that hasn’t tried to hurt you first, but damn it if you don’t know how to fly. You whoop, noise of excitement startling you as you fly over the water, make the waves ripple underneath the sheer force of your power. </p><p>The Crest is above you, now, gaining speed fast. You know how Din moves the ship in urgent situations—when he needs to evade and when he needs to attack, so you slam down on the controls at the last second when the Crest’s artillery is aright above you, and you can hear his comm crackle with victory until you rocket up and around him, squinting to knock the artillery out of gear. </p><p>“Nice try,” you taunt, and you’re being cocky now, needlessly so, but this is the most in your element that you’ve felt in years. Your thumbs glide over the gearshift, rolling around again to get the high ground. “You’re good.”</p><p>“I am,” Din says, lowly, and you can feel the challenge in his voice. </p><p>“Not as good as me,” you grin, and with a quick evade and another loop upward, you knock out the Crest’s other gun. You holler as you watch Din angrily try to hulk the ship around to face you, and you ride there for a second, gleeful and elated. </p><p>He tries to catch up with you. The Crest handles well under his expert grip, but you know how old it is, how much of it is held together with a bit of grease and welding and good luck. So you let him try to chase you, to make him think that he’s gotten the high ground. You make a series of small mistakes—ones that if he looked too closely, he’d be able to catch that they weren’t mistakes at all—and fly low to the water again. Right as the Crest is about to get in position to knock you back, you pull under and roll the entire starfighter underneath the belly of Din’s ship and take out the third and last set of guns. He’s powerless. And you know him, you know he doesn’t give up when he’s cornered, he fights through, and you’re about to tell him that you’ve had your fun and you can tie, but then his voice crackles again.</p><p>“What are you waiting for, cyar’ika?” he asks, and you can hear the way his voice sparks. He likes this, you realize, he likes being put in this position. He likes seeing you powerful and in charge, seeing how quickly you match his prowess when you’re airborne. You pull the starfighter up, slamming down the jets until you’re stationary in front of him. You can see the way his helmet’s cocked, a taunt. You narrow your gaze, small smile snaking its way across your face. </p><p>“You to admit I’ve got you cornered,” you level, and his sigh rips a hole through you, sparks something wet and hot deep down. You shiver, trying your best to keep your game face. “I’ve got you over water, with no guns, no ammunition, and no way out.”</p><p>“I don’t give up easy,” Din argues, but you can feel the way his voice breaks over the syllables. You bet that if you were inside the Crest right now with him, he’d be hard as a fucking rock. </p><p>“Maybe so,” you whisper, hands lightly gripping the controls, “but I don’t scare easy. Remember?” </p><p>His breath hitches, and you know he’s thinking of where he first met you on Nevarro, where he had the world in his hand, and you jumped into it. You can feel it, how much he wants you, palpable and electric, and you’re ready to make your final move. </p><p>Din stays there, just for a second, and when he moves the Crest into action, you’re forced to play on the offensive. He does a barrel roll as you skate straight upward, heading into the clouds as he’s able to get one of the guns back in place and shoot after you. You dodge it—narrowly, but under the fog, so he can’t see how close he got—and then you spin around midair, eyes narrowed in focus, spinning straight down with everything blasting. The Crest has no place to go except back towards the beach, and you’re chasing on its tail until you can knock the artillery off-kilter again. You smile, a victorious, gleeful thing, and you finally get the shot in that you need to, sending the Crest in a beeline for the shore. Din has no choice. He pulls onto the sand shakily and completely defenseless, and you gently bring the starfighter down beside the ship you both call home. </p><p>You make a big show of dismounting, letting your loose hair flow out of the helmet, flipping it over your left shoulder. You wish you had the obnoxious orange jumpsuit to really seal the deal for your big moment as the Rebel fighter pilot, but Din just stands there, resolute and quiet, and you really didn’t think he’d be the sullen sore loser that he looks like right now. </p><p>You hesitate, just for a second, but you take your last few strides to meet the baby and then walk over to Din. “Told you I was good,” you say, softly, letting your hair fall back around your face as the breeze comes up and rustles it. </p><p>He’s still quiet. You really wouldn’t have pegged him for being so motionless, so affronted at you winning, but he’s still just frozen in place, and as you reach forward to put your hand on his arm—or maybe on his helmet, you haven’t totally decided—his arm snaps up and grabs it midair, and you gasp at the impact, recoil at the wan his fingers are clenched around your wrist. Din’s never actually scared you—you know who he is under the armor—but the whole silent and stoic thing hasn’t been prominent since your first few weeks on the ship. You glance back and forth from where he has your wrist locked in his grip and up at the visor, eyebrows furrowing. In confusion or in distress, you’re not really sure, but you’re completely frozen, heart hammering in your chest.</p><p>“You can’t touch me right now,” he says, and you startle, eyes locking on where he’s holding you, “because if you touch me, I’ll cum in my fucking pants.” His voice is deep, low, guttural. Everything in you clenches, blood pounding in your ears. “I mean it, cyar’ika, not until we’re—” he breaks off, looking at the baby, whose eyes are getting sleepy, “alone,” he grits out. You can feel your eyes flashing, feel how wet you’re getting. </p><p>“Oh,” you manage, breathless, “well, in that case,” and you wink at him while wrangling your wrist free. You gaze flicks down to his pants, and holy Maker you can see how hard he is through the bulge in the fabric and even under the armor, you know how his body goes rigid whenever he’s this turned on. Your tongue flits in and out of your lips, and Din groans. </p><p>“Get on the ship,” he says, voice still strange. You look back at the sleepy baby and wink again at Din, boarding the gangplank. You’re not sure what the plan is, but the second Din is back up, he pulls the gangplank back up, climbs the ladder, and punches something into the coordinates. You realize as the Crest shoots out and up over the trees that you’re just landing in the same place where you parked upon arrival, and your belly flips over in excitement.</p><p>You put the baby to sleep in the alcove, heart still beating. When Din descends the ladder, it’s like all the air has evaporated. He grabs you—not gently, but not forcefully, either—and you let him lead you up against the wall. </p><p>“You are good,” he says, voice low and gravelly, shaking through the modulator. “Too fucking good.”</p><p>You beam at him as he pulls his gloves off—both of them. You shiver as he drags his hands up your body, and choke out a moan when they clasp gently around your throat, letting him hold you there. “I thought—” you start, tripping over the syllables, “I thought—that you were pissed at me for being so good—that’s why—” </p><p>“No,” he stresses, and you melt against his touch, his voice. “I was trying to—stars, cyar’ika, I was trying to last until I could fuck you,” and you gasp as his words filter in, “and when I saw you—fuck, so confident, so eager, with your hair all messy—” </p><p>“That’s how I feel about you,” you whisper, voice still breathy. “Every time you even—you do anything, you protect me—I want to faint with how badly I want you.” </p><p>“Let me fuck you first,” Din interrupts, “pass out later, if you need to.” </p><p>“Mmm,” you hum, and then one hand disappears from your neck, and you know just by the gesture to close your eyes. “Hey, Din?”</p><p>You hear the helmet disengage and you moan, and then his lips are on yours, and everything you were going to say flies out of the fucking window. You let yourself just be held there, anchored by just his lips and hands, and when he breaks for air, you muddle it out. </p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Do—did you think I was sexy up in the air like that?”</p><p>He sighs, moans into your mouth. Your heart is beating so fast, you have to strain to hear what he says. “If I didn’t like touching you—fucking you—on my ship,” he says, “I’d give up everything to let you chase me through the galaxy. The Guild, the hunt, the armor, everything. I’d just let you chase me around and try to shoot me down.”</p><p>Your pussy clenches, and you can barely breathe by how hot your body is radiating, your hands trying to find where his crotch is so you can start pulling Din’s clothes off. Right before you find the seam, you manage one word. “Masochist,” you mutter, and then you’re being stripped down, and you’re grabbing blindly at Din’s clothes, and before you’re fully undressed, he has you pressed up against the wall, one of his giant hands under either leg, anchoring you exactly where he wants to. Your hands tangle in his hair. For a second, just a moment, you’re both holding each other up by sheer luck and gravity alone, and then his lips travel down to your neck, and it’s like everything in the universe is gone except him. </p><p>It’s impossible to quantify it, to put the rush he gives you, into words. You’ve flown from one end of the galaxy to the other, and you thought that fighting Imperial forces from the impenetrable cocoon of your X-wing gave you the best high you’ve ever had in your life, but everything pales in comparison to Din. His lips, the hungry way he swallows you, his fingers, long and glorious, how every time you pulse around him when he’s inside you, the way that he just holds you there while he’s absolutely destroying you—it’s suffocating. It would be sensory overload if you didn’t crave his touch every single second, getting sent to the stars and back. As he pulls your clothes off, your eyes are still squeezed shut. You have to focus on the action of it, because when Din’s mouth returns to your skin—your lips, your chin, your neck, your chest, slipping all the way down your scar to in between your legs, all they want to do is roll back and accept the pleasure he’s giving you. When his mouth travels across underneath your bellybutton, in between your legs, you gasp, hands shaking, everything alive. You cum once, then twice—you’re pretty sure. With the intensity of his gravity, with the unbelievable warmth, you lose time under his grasp. You lose your senses, your wit, your voice reduced to moaning his name over and over, monosyllabic, a prayer to the stars above. </p><p>“Lemme,” you manage, finally, breath raggedy, “lemme—touch you, please—” </p><p>“No,” he growls, voice muffled between your thighs. His tongue is licking expert circles around you, and when he pulses his middle finger inside you, you forget what you were even asking for. You moan, legs shaking, hands knotted in his hair. You can feel his gaze on you when he pulls back for air, still pumping that glorious finger inside you to keep you moving while he’s working up the energy for more. “It’s my turn with you.”</p><p>You shudder. “I—I won earlier,” you whine. “I shot you down—fuck—I want to touch you. Wanna suck you, m—make you feel good, please—” </p><p>“No,” Din repeats, stern, and as he leverages his body over yours, your eyelids flutter, just a little. You don’t fully register what it is you’re seeing until after—an eyebrow, the scruff on his cheek, how powerful his jawline is. You mewl, helpless, trying to squeeze your eyes shut so that he doesn’t think that you were intentionally looking at him like that, and then his lips are on yours. “I’m very sad I lost, cyar’ika, and I need to please you as consolation.”</p><p>You shriek, barely surprising the noise behind the hand you clap over your mouth. “Please,” you yelp, in between kisses that feel like he’s swallowing you whole. You don’t know if you’re incredulously repeating what he just said, or if you’re still begging. </p><p>He sighs, loud and long, and then pulls you off the floor. You take a second to get your bearings, and then you reach around midair for him. Silently, Din guides your hand until it closes itself around his cock, dripping and ready for you, and you moan with the feeling of it, trying to guide it toward your mouth. You can’t see, but you’re pretty sure that you’re both propped up on your knees, both naked and shuddering, and when your mouth finally closes over the tip, Din lets out a strangled noise. </p><p>“I—you need to stop,” he protests, weakly, and you immediately let go, the absence of your mouth making a sucking, slurping noise as you do so. You’re frozen, hands braced on his hips, waiting for permission. “No—didn’t mean that,” he sighs as your thumb grazes across his left hipbone, “just—fuck, I’m already so close.”</p><p>“Let me just swallow you down,” you wheedle, in your best seductive tone, “please, Din, all I want is to take you down my throat.”</p><p>“Wanna—fuck you,” he manages, but he guides your jaw back between his legs, and when your mouth closes over the tip again, he moans, pressing his hips forward so you can take him all the way down your throat. You’re pretty sure that he’s already about ready to burst when your lips slide over him again, because he moans—loud—and twitches in your mouth. You don’t really know what you’re doing—he’s always been so insistent on pleasing you or fucking you, you haven’t had the chance to let him finish in your mouth since you were halfway through the Outer Rim, and because it’s so rare, you try to make it special. It’s hard in the dark, especially with how big he is and how he’s thrusting into you, and your eyes flutter open without trying to. You want to kick yourself when they open, but you’re so close to his skin that all you see is a gentle gradient trail of hair down the middle of his stomach and a small scar cut into the skin there, and then they’re closed again and you keep your mouth vacuum sealed around him as Din thrusts once, twice, and then he’s shooting down your throat, thick and hot, moaning your name loudly into the hull, reverberating and ringing. You’re afraid to move, afraid to do anything until he tells you to, so you just stay there, mouth clenched around him, swallowing every drop.</p><p>He’s shaking. You collapse, an entire mess onto the floor, completely blissed out. Everything in you is still wobbling back and forth, like you can’t find your center to steady yourself. You collapse on the floor, totally naked, chest heaving, and you hear the rustling around you before you realize that Din’s picked his helmet off the floor, and you shake your head. “No.”</p><p>He pauses behind you. You can’t see him, and even if you could, your eyes are still closed, so you flutter a hand towards the direction you think that his helmet is in. </p><p>“Don’t,” you manage, and then you inhale and all the fragments that you’re stumbling over seem to coalesce in your mouth. “Don’t put it back on, please—I just want to be able to kiss you, lay down with you—” </p><p>“You can,” he interjects, and his voice comes through the modulator. You sigh, rolling your head back up from the ground to look at him. “I’ll take it off later.”</p><p>“Why?” you whine, and his bare hand finds your face, fingers ghosting off your cheekbone. Immediately, you’re satiated, complacent. </p><p>“Food,” Din says, simply, slipping his clothes back on. You just watch, mesmerized, as he steps into his clothes. You’ve seen his body in spurts, in fragments, but you haven’t been able to see every inch of it uncovered. You can see his neck, just the outline, in the light, and his Adam’s apple bobs up and down underneath the helmet. “When’s the last time you ate?”</p><p>Your stomach, the traitor it is, growls. You scrunch up your nose, trying to mimic the baby’s big bug eyes with your pleading. It’s a fifty-fifty shot, you know it is, because the kid’s Din’s Achilles heel, but you also know how serious he gets about giving you food. It’s like he only gulps things down sporadically, just out of necessity, but every time you don’t revel in what you’re eating, he notices. “Too long,” you resign, sullen, and you start pulling your clothes off the floor before you realize that you should probably shower. But you know Din, and you know that he won’t let you wash off until you’ve had your full meal, so you halfheartedly redress, shivering in the quiet dark of the ship. Your eyes were closed, but now you realize it’s fully dark out here, and you’re running down the hours into the night. </p><p>“Here,” Din says, softly, handing you your jacket and then his cloak. You smile up at him, wrapping yourself up. “It’s cold out there, but I can make a fire.” </p><p>“Ooh.” It’s quiet, but you feel the way your whole face lights up with it. </p><p>He cocks the helmet at you, and then you smile lazily up at him, grabbing the baby’s cradle as gently as you can and following Din down the gangplank. Your gaze tilts upwards. You’ve always been partial to forests, to that great big greenness that tree cover provides, and you can feel the way your heart is tugging at nostalgia inside your chest. There are millions of stars here—you’re not sure if the entire planet is as unpopulated as this place, but where you are, you can see for what feels like lightyears. Everywhere, the night is scattered with glittering balls of gaseous light, flickering and glimmering above you, above the leaves, above everything. The stars used to make you feel small. Now, here, with Din and the baby—they make you feel known. </p><p>You settle in around Din, pulling the baby into your lap as he fuddles with the lighter and whatever stones he’s trying to pulse together to create heat, and you let him struggle for a few minutes before placing the baby back in his cradle, leaning in over the makeshift firepit, and skating two stones off each other in one go, the spark starting and immediately catching on the wood. You smile in the fluttering light, the fire starting hot and warm, spreading and crackling over the logs. When you stand back up, wiping ash off your fingers, you know that Din’s staring at you under the helmet. In his stillness, the way his head is cocked to the left—you’d kill to be able to see what faces he was making under the mask now.</p><p>“Where’d you pick that up?” he asks, sounding dazed. </p><p>You grin back at him, slowly reclining back again into the larger log, pulling his cloak around your shoulders. “Home,” you say, truthfully. “It was one of the first things my father taught me how to do, as soon as I was old enough to not hurt myself or burn the base down.” You look into the fire, and if you practice long enough, you can hear his voice, deep and purposeful. Stay focused. Don’t take your eyes off the flame. “I was a nuisance when I was a kid. Not because I was a troublemaker—I was terrified to ever do anything that would get me in trouble—but because I was just so earnest. Eager. I was a natural at flying, at everything they instilled into us on the base. My parents were always losing track of me because I would just go out in the open and do things that I wasn’t supposed to because I wanted to prove I was worthy.” Tears tug at the corner of your eyes, sudden and intense, and you pull your knees up to your chest, chin jutting into the right one, turning your gaze over to where Din’s sitting across from you. </p><p>“I know,” he says, softly, and your eyebrows furrow. He sighs, adjusting, visor locked on you. “I know you’re not intentionally a troublemaker, cyar’ika—that everything you do is with intention. That’s what caught my eye. You could have shot the man who was harassing you back on Nevarro, but you didn’t. You could have fought off the blue-faced one on the first planet we touched down on together, but even when you were in danger, you tried the offensive first.” </p><p>You swallow. “I’m not naïve,” you whisper, voice warbling. “I just—I like to give people the benefit of the doubt.”</p><p>Din’s quiet. “Even after Jacterr?”</p><p>You flinch at the sound of his name, and you can see how Din’s posture changes when you do so, and you shake your head gently. “He was one bad guy. Abusive, horrible, selfish. But I’ve been across this galaxy, and I’ve seen a lot of evil.” You tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, shifting closer to the fire. “I’ve seen more good. I saw it in you.”</p><p>“When?” Din asks, his voice soft. “When did you see it in me?”</p><p>You blink, trying to pinpoint an exact moment. You can’t. You know that you trusted him enough to jump ship with him moments after he shot someone dead, and that you trust him now beyond question. But there was just something inside you, something that pulsed deep and real, something more. It had been there for longer than you can remember, your knowledge that the universe had been waiting for you, wanting you, but it just didn’t turn celestial until you met Din. “Forever,” you say, voice faraway but intentional. “I knew it from the minute I met you.”</p><p>“How?” he asks, and there’s something hard and complicated in his voice, so you straighten your back and look over at him, fluttering your tongue between your teeth, trying to gather the right words. </p><p>“I know you,” you say, simply. “You remember how you said you could find me anywhere, back before we landed on Trandosha? That you know me, you know where I’d go? I don’t have the skills of a big bad bounty hunter,” and you smile softly as Din snorts through the modulator, “but I know you. I think I know you better than I’ve ever known anyone.” You drop your chin against your knee again. “I know that you don’t see yourself as good, as worthy, even though that’s exactly what you are. I know you’re a loner who broke his entire lifestyle, everything he’d known, to protect the baby.” Your gaze flickers to the little guy, and his big eyes are wide and attentive. “I know that you’ve protected me in every single situation I couldn’t protect myself, and I know that you trust me enough to let me defend myself, you, and the kid, even when it’s something you can handle.” </p><p>“Keep going,” he whispers, and you swallow, trying to find the words. </p><p>“I’ve seen evil, Din,” you say, chancing his real name against the silhouettes of the forest, the trees the only other sentient beings out here besides the three of you. “I’ve seen death, I’ve seen destruction. You’re a warrior, you have this iron exterior, but you haven’t let the galaxy make you cold.” You pause again, staring into the fire to try to conjure up a way to make it tangible for him in the way it soars inside your chest. “You keep me warm,” you say, simply. “You keep me warm, and you let me in. Before you, I was—anchorless. Loud. You make me quiet, remember? And you—everything about you—you make me feel known.”</p><p>He’s staring at you. You can see how reflective the fire is in the visor, and as much as you want to fill the silence with words, you know how counterintuitive it would be. So you just sit there, watching him, tracing reflections of warmth in his reflective exterior, waiting for him to speak first. “There’s—I only know a handful of words in Mando’a. Most of it, I just picked up from the clan that took me in. The language is dying, almost completely dead. I never got a chance for fluency, but there’s a small vocabulary I know.” He pauses again, and you lean forward. “Darasuum means forever—an eternity, really, but forever. Then there’s this word—kar’taylir—which means to know. To hold in the heart.”</p><p>You nod, trying the weight of the word in your mouth. “Kar’taylir. To hold—hold in the heart. To know. The word has two definitions?”</p><p>“To me it does,” Din says, and you can barely hear his voice over the crackling of the fire. “Ni kar'tayl su. I know you.”</p><p>You repeat the unfamiliar words, trying to understand how his tongue curls and releases around the sound. “To hold in the heart,” you echo, and Din nods. Quickly, he’s up and around the semicircle to you, and you blink as he leans in close to you, hand on your face. “To hold in the heart…forever.” </p><p>“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum,” Din agrees, and something in your heart does cartwheels. He falls silent, after, and you fall into his chest. You think about what it means to hold something in your heart, to know—to deeply, truly know someone else—and regardless if you’re projecting your feelings on Mando’a, you think you know what he means. It burns a familiar, cosmic hole in your chest. He loves you. </p><p>You want so badly to say it, but you’re mesmerized by the fire, mesmerized by Din opening up and sharing himself with you, that for once, you’re completely speechless. You just sit there, up against him, for as long as you possibly can, and as the fire dies down, Din slowly rouses and pulls himself up, then you. You follow him, wordless, sleeping baby in your arms, and when the two of you settle down to the nest on the floor, in the pitch black, you hear the hiss of the helmet disengaging, and you smile in the dark. </p><p>“Ni kar’tayl su,” you whisper, and you feel Din shift against you. </p><p>“What do you know about me?” he asks again, voice low and thrumming in the dark hull. </p><p>“You’re a masochist,” you yawn, and hearing his laugh—a real laugh—unfiltered and unmodulated—makes your heart soar in your chest. “You like being the protector, but you like being taken care of. You’ve never taken your mask off for anyone to see, not since you were a kid. Your sense of family is the Creed and what you’ve learned from us,” you swallow. “You don’t eat unless you have to, because it’s a necessity and not a craving. You have absolutely no clue about what happened in the Rebel Alliance, you hate the sand, you—” you rustle up against him, pressing your lips against his neck, “hate leaving me.”</p><p>“I do,” Din says, voice faraway. “Always have. Always will.”</p><p>You inhale, breath tripping over your next words. “You love my hair, for some reason—touching it, running your hands through it. You prefer pleasing me than getting off yourself, you’re a man of your word.” You lean into him, arm caressing over his torso as you nestle yourself in closer. “There are two things you’d burn the galaxy down for. Me and the baby.”</p><p>“You’re good,” Din answers.</p><p>“I know you, Din Djarin,” you whisper, the words barely making any noise at all. “I know you are too.”</p><p>“I’m not—” he sighs, and you’re about to throw the weight of the entire ship at him for denying you before you realize that’s not his point. “I’m not allowed to just offer up information. By Creed. My name, that was a loophole. I don’t have many more. But if you have any questions—if you—you can ask them,” he finishes, sighing quietly. </p><p>You’re quiet for a second. You almost wish that you were looking up at the stars still, that he could be outside with you without the helmet on, but you don’t think it’s exactly fair to beg him for something that was such a close call back on Naator. It’s dark in the hull, the entirety of the Crest black and welcoming, and you pull yourself up against Din’s body, head on top of his bare chest, looking upward. If you squeeze your eyes tight enough, you can see the collections of light in the sky reflected on the ceiling of the ship. It’s not the stars themselves, but it’s pretty damn close. </p><p>“Can I start now?” you whisper, the words a catalyst. </p><p>You feel Din nodding before you hear him speak. “Yes.”</p><p>There’s so many questions you want the answers to, big, world-shattering questions about where he came from and his life with the baby before he met you on Nevarro, but the first thing that comes out isn’t anywhere near any of that. </p><p>“What’s the best bounty you’ve ever caught?”</p><p>He snorts, loud and clear in the silence. “That’s your big, burning question, sweet thing?”</p><p>His old nickname for you makes your belly fill with butterflies, and you lean towards where you know his face is in the dark to feel his breath. </p><p>“Figured I’d start you off easy,” you giggle, and Din’s hand finds your hair, long fingers stroking through it. “Best bounty.”</p><p>“The kid,” Din answers, instantaneous, and you feel the heat rush to your cheeks in the pitch dark, the obviousness of his answer smacking you across the face. “Changed my life,” he adds, easily, and you shift, moving your head back down next to his, both of you splayed upwards in your nest of blankets in the hull. </p><p>“How couldn’t he,” you echo, quietly, feeling the baby’s energy from Din’s alcove. “He’s one in a million, that one.” You pause. “What happened down on Toydaria?”</p><p>Din sighs, loud and heavy. “I told you, someone tried to take my helmet off.”</p><p>“And it got dicey,” you prompt him.</p><p>“It did,” he says, and falls into an uneasy silence. “I—they almost wrangled it off. I had to shoot a lot more bullets than I was planning to, and I barely escaped. There were three of them. They won’t be trying to take anything off me again.”</p><p>His voice is almost too measured, and you just quietly reach your hand up to stroke his face, and immediately he relaxes. </p><p>“If anyone tries to around me,” you whisper, “I’ll—they won’t be doing it again, either.”</p><p>Din nods in the dark, and his hand reaches up to cup your face so that you’re laying facing each other. It’s absolutely impossible for you to see anything, his arms ghosting around yours, his fingers tucking themselves behind your ear, let alone to make out any of the curves or shapes of his face, but that jittery energy that pulses inside your stomach keeps reminding you that he’s completely and totally maskless, face pushed close to yours, sharing your air. You’re reminded of the strange sensation you felt back when you were terrified that you couldn’t pick Din out of anyone else in a crowd when he didn’t have the armor on, and you’re ashamed of the version of yourself that didn’t think you could find him anywhere, couldn’t feel the way his heart beats in tandem with yours, wraps around you, safe. Your breath is shallow as you feel the weight of his touch. </p><p>“Why do you play with my hair so much?” you ask, and that’s not even the question you’re desperately craving an answer from, but Din’s hand freezes behind your ear. </p><p>“I—” he starts, sighs, and you can feel the weight go out of his grip. He’s holding onto your cheek, fingers still tangled in your hair, and you just hold your breath. “It’s the first thing I noticed about you after I just—y’know, saw you standing there with the man who was leering at you. It blew in the wind, and I just—it’s so free,” he manages, and you know that what he’s saying is hard for him to do delicately, so you just sit in bated silence, holding your hand up against his cheek. Even in the dark, you’re reflecting pools of each other, made of the same cosmic stuff. “I’m not free. By Creed, by any standards, I’m not. I’m my own person, my decisions are mine, but…”</p><p>“This is the Way?” you chance, and you feel Din’s forehead press against yours.</p><p>“This is the Way,” he echoes. “Really, the armor, the regalia, the mask, all of it—it’s been a part of me so long that I’ve forgotten who I can be without it.” </p><p>You bite your lip. You don’t exactly understand the Mandalorian Creed, just picked up bits and pieces from observation and the little fragments of moments that Din’s told you, but you know to him, at least, it’s more than important. It’s his way of living. And you don’t want to question that, or even put the idea into his head—but it’s right there, and you need to tell him. “You can be you without it,” you whisper, “you’re the same man in and out of armor, of the helmet—”</p><p>“If I take my helmet off in front of someone,” Din interrupts, “that’s it. Game over. I can’t ever put it back on again. And I—” his voice cuts off like he’s been punched with air, “I want to with you, cyar’ika, because I trust you and I—” he stops himself again, and you can feel your eyes flooding with tears, your heart still hammering up a storm inside your chest, “I just…it’s not something I can do halfway.”</p><p>“I understand,” you say, earnestly, even though you’re not exactly sure if you do, but you know that this is his life, the way he’s always lived it. “And—whenever you want to, really—you can touch my hair. Or we can lay in the dark and I can touch yours.” You pause, leaning your forehead against his again, resolute, “I don’t ever need to see your face, if you…can’t. I don’t care what you look like.” You press yourself as close to him as you can, holding lightly onto his cheekbones in the dark, “You’re—everything,” you finish, quite discordantly, “to me. Knowing what you look like won’t ever change that.”</p><p>He’s silent for a long time. And even in the crushing dark, even after the weight of it all, the quiet doesn’t feel loud. It feels comfortable. Safe. Knowing. That alone is enough to prove your point to the both of you, so you just stay there, resolute, ready for whatever Din says next.</p><p>You’re almost falling into sleep when he speaks again. </p><p>“In Mandalorian culture,” Din whispers, and you flutter your eyelashes a little, inhaling when you realize you aren’t dreaming, “we don’t have a big ceremony when we get married. It’s private. The only thing you do is exchange vows—and then you take your helmets off in front of each other.” He swallows. “I’m…cyar’ika, I’m not saying you’ll never see my face. I already told you that—”</p><p>“When you’ll propose to me, I’ll know,” you whisper, “and that I should be prepared to take your last name.”</p><p>He nods against your forehead, hand curling around to the back of your neck to draw you in closer. “Yes.”</p><p>“Not yet, then,” you agree. “I’m not in any rush.”</p><p>“Oh no?” he asks, and you yawn, snuggling in sleepily against his bare chest. </p><p>“No,” you manage, voice heavy with sleep, “we do have forever, remember?”</p><p>He doesn’t answer, just draws you in closer, runs fingers up and down your back to lull you into sleep. From Din, it’s an agreement. You’re almost sure that you follow him into sleep, because his breathing regulates quicker than yours does, and the last thing on your mind before you fall asleep is how easy it is with Din, how loving him feels like breathing. To know, to hold in the heart. You trace patterns of the same three words over his heart as he sleeps, writing iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou as you follow him, quiet, into the dark.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I HOPE YOU LOVED IT!! i've had the starfighter scene in my head since this story was just a small dream in the back of my mind, before any of it was out on paper, and everything about this chapter just synthesized around it. lemme know what you think!!!</p><p>i'm struggling with my health again a bit, and i just got my COVID vaccine yesterday, so i'm a little ragged, but CHAPTER 16 SHOULD BE UP 7:30 PM EST ON SATURDAY, APRIL 3RD (my birthday!)!! if for any reason i can't get it done by then, i'll let you know on tiktok (padmeamydala) and tumblr (amiedala)!!!</p><p>LOVE YOU!!!!! i'll be around all night to chat as always!!!</p><p>xoxo, amelie</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Novalise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“I know you,” Din continues. “I know your secrets, I know where you’d hide, and I know it because you let me. I usually have to chase people down. But you walked right into me and you—you just fit. With the baby. On the Crest. With me,” he says, and you step forward, closing the gap between you. “You found me, and everything made sense.” </p><p>You stifle a sob in your throat. “Din—” </p><p>“Ni kar’tayl su,” he starts. </p><p>You can’t help it. You interrupt him. “I love you.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>HELLOOOOOO EVERYONE!!!! it's my birthday and i cannot put into words how EXCITED i am to share this chapter with you!!!!! it's 14k+ words and this chapter just flew out of me like it was already fully formed. i'm SO thrilled to be posting this on my birthday—and to get to share this thing i love so much with all of you!!!!!! ENJOY i cannot wait to hear your thoughts!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Leaving Kashyyyk feels like pulling teeth. Neither of you want to do it, but you’ve already spent a handful of precious days and nights here, and you know Nevarro is calling out for Din and his bounties encased in carbonite. You’re dreading when he collects more pucks and has to leave the ship again. He lets you stand outside in the morning air, breathe in the clean scent of all the greenery, for as long as you want before you climb back the gangplank. </p><p>“We’ll come back,” Din assures you, “someday.”</p><p>“I believe you,” you manage, and as the Crest powers up and soars above the line of the trees, your heart catches in your throat at the sight of the starfighter on the black sand beach, aching for a return. You settle into the copilot’s chair, snuggling with the baby, wiping sleep from the corner of your eyes. “Where are we headed now?”</p><p>“I have one more errand to run,” Din says, escalating the Crest out of the atmosphere. “One more bounty, then Nevarro.”</p><p>You sleepily count the bounties that he’s caught over the last few weeks on your fingers. “I thought you got them all?”</p><p>He shakes his head. “One more, then Nevarro.”</p><p>You don’t feel like trying to puzzle it out in your head. You’re sleepy, and it’s hard to shake it when the ship is warm, and you’re nestled up tight with the baby. Once you’re in warp, Din gently pulls you out onto the floor, wrapping you up with his spare blanket. You’re not sure why you’re so exhausted, but you have a feeling it has to do with all the revelations that Din gave you last night—oh, and the first real mission you’ve flown in for years, getting to soak up all of that adrenaline and glory. You’re about to fall asleep again when you remember the way Din’s voice stuttered through his admissions last night, the way his lips curled around his promise that you’d see his face, someday, and the way that you connected that with his proposal—holy fuck, did he insinuate that seeing his face would be the way of proposal?</p><p>You shake yourself awake, breath quick and sharp in your throat. </p><p>“You okay?” Din asks, and you look up to where he’s slowly turning around in the pilot’s seat. Your eyes blink around the shooting rush of hyperspace, your stomach doing somersaults.</p><p>You nod. “Yeah,” you say, breathless, “just—thinking. I’m fine.”</p><p>Din cocks his helmet at you—intimidating, hulking figure splayed out. If you didn’t know him so well, didn’t know his voice, his name, the way that he protects you, you’d be scared shitless of him. You weren’t ever terrified by his large, quiet presence, but the feeling of being at the bad end of his weapon is daunting. His bounties must feel like prey when they catch sight of the armor. You gulp, trying to take him in.</p><p>“We’re headed to a planet first,” Din says, finally, head still cocked at you, “it’s close. Then…we have to go back to Nevarro, but we can take our time.” </p><p>“Okay,” you say, cracking your neck. After a few minutes on the floor, you slowly rise to your feet. You’re not trying to do it, you swear, but your body stumbles towards Din, and suddenly you’re in his lap, either leg straddling his armored ones. You can see how your breath fogs up on the visor, your eyes lit up with the hungry flame that sparks up inside you whenever you’re touching him. His hands, gloved and big, hold your hips, gripping, certain. You glance back at the baby, who’s sitting in his cradle, and you deflate. “The baby,” you whisper, and Din sighs. Before you know it, he’s lifting you off of him and placing you gently in his place, his metal body standing behind the pilot’s chair. You’re about to ask him what he’s doing before his gloves come off just in your periphery, and his fingers are digging in between your shoulder blades. </p><p>You always crumble against his touch, but this is a whole new animal. He pulses his thumbs right down to the quick, finding the points on either side of your neck that have been stiff for years, and you liquefy. You’re not sure if you’re even conscious, because what he’s doing, the heaven he’s working—it’s all-consuming. You’re pretty sure you mumble some halfhearted promise of returning the favor, and Din just tilts your neck down so he can dig into the muscle and undo most of the knots you’ve collected there since you were a kid. “Feels—good,” you croak out, and you can hear him chuckle through the modulator. You’re reaching for him, you think, when the Crest whooshes out of warp and both of you are thrown forward. You stumble trying to get up, and Din gently guides you back to the copilot’s chair before you can do it of your own accord. You grab the baby’s egg and buckle yourself in, watching the planet crest outside of the front window. </p><p>“I know this place,” you say, faintly. “I—I’ve never been here, but I’ve heard the stories. Balnab, right?”</p><p>Din turns around halfway, visor making contact with your gaze. “You know this place?”</p><p>You nod, thumb pulsing at the opening between your lips. “I’ve never been here. But…this is where a lot of spice runners traffic their supplies. Or where they used to.”</p><p>Din’s still staring at you. You can feel it. You’re half out of your seat, peering at the atmosphere as the Crest zips through it. For a reason you can’t quite place, your stomach flips over in dread. Your eyebrows furrow down the middle, and once the Crest is landed in a relatively packed bay, Din gets up and meets you in the middle. “Cyar’ika?”</p><p>“I—” your breath catches, but you’re still not sure why something feels off. “I’ve never been here, but it seems familiar,” you say, watching the steady flow of traffic pass by outside the Crest. The planet’s atmosphere is clouded and dark, but the people look lively, kind. “There’s a bounty here?” You look back up Din, and he nods, a confirmation. “How long?” you ask. You’re trying—really trying here—to not let the longing for him leech into your words before he’s even left you again, but you need to know. Even though you’ll have multiple days of warp before you’re back on Nevarro, your heart already aches for him. You bite your lip as you tilt your neck back to look at Din, and one of his gloved hands catches around your jaw.</p><p>“A day at most,” Din says. “I know where he is.”</p><p>You nod, eyes flicking off the visor and back into the crowded streets. “I can deal with a day.”</p><p>“Hey,” Din says, and your gaze goes back to him, your face placated in the reflection. “We made a promise on Naator, remember?”</p><p>“There have been,” you sigh, humming as his hand tucks your hair behind your ear, “many promises, you know. You’re going to have to be more specific.” </p><p>“You’re not my prisoner,” Din says, and a light turns on in your brain. “You have your blaster, we’re in the safest part of the city. You’re free to do whatever you want—get food, shop around, just visit—but you have to have your comm on so we can keep talking.”</p><p>You beam up at him. “Remember when we only used the comm for emergencies?”</p><p>Din’s thumb grazes over your cheekbone. “Everything you do quantifies as an emergency,” he says, “even when it’s not. You’re the priority.” </p><p>You want to kiss him, and before you can even ask, he lifts up the helmet, and your eyes squeeze shut just in time for the helmet to come off, but you catch his bottom lip. It’s full, pink, gorgeous. Your heart does cartwheels in your chest, and you wait a few extra seconds after hearing the helmet clicking back into place to open them again. You don’t want to betray his trust, you don’t ever want to see more of him than he’s given explicit consent for you, but between his lips, the fraction of his face you saw on Trandosha, and the confirmation that his eyes are brown, your mind and its extremely overactive imagination are starting to paint a picture of what Din looks like. </p><p>“I’ll be safe,” you say, finally, and he nods at you. You look at the baby, eyebrows raised in question, and Din gestures him to follow you. You check your comm before you take Din’s hand, go down the ladder, and stand on your tiptoes to see the bustle of the city below the descended gangplank. It’s colder than you were expecting, and you shiver in your jacket for a second before Din’s pulling off his cloak and throwing it your way. His pinky catches yours for a moment, and you beam up at him as you let him swaddle you in the warmth of it. </p><p>“Five hours,” Din says, “and we meet back here. I’ll have my comm on.”</p><p>“Me too,” you echo, smiling up at him, “do what you do best, big bad bounty hunter.”</p><p>“Careful, cyar’ika,” Din whispers, letting go of your hand, “or you might turn into one of them.” And then, as per usual, he leaves you there, shaking, mouth open, trying your hardest to not imagine what being his bounty would be like, and trying harder to not let it rush between your legs. </p><p>The city on Balnab isn’t anything like the places you’ve frequented. With Naator’s quiet atmosphere and Tatooine’s barren one, you’ve seen handfuls of tiny villages and houses, and with Coruscant’s intimidating bustle and Corellia’s heavy grime, you’ve seen the city life. By now, you’ve experienced both ends of the spectrum. But this city isn’t small, or large, really. The urban sprawl seems to extend for a few klicks—you can’t see the line where city ends and earth begins—but everything in between is haphazard and warm. You weren’t expecting it to be warm, you marvel internally as you keep close to the foot traffic. The climate is chilly, but there are flowers, plants hanging out of windows, clotheslines that run up and down between the houses and shops, looking like everyone who lives here shares things. The architecture of the buildings seems like a patchwork—there are handfuls of stone buildings and ones made out of varying shades and sizes of metal, and, maybe the most startling thing—there are paintings everywhere. Children of every human and alien species you can name run out freely in the street, drawing with chalk on the scarce sidewalk, laughing and giggling as they run loops around you. The baby reaches his little fingers out of his cradle to one of the girls—you’re not sure if she’s full Rodian, but her eyes glitter galaxies that give you a pretty good guess—and she gasps, collecting her hands around his. It’s a fleeting moment, but she looks up at you as if to ask for permission, and you nod gently at her, knowing she couldn’t possibly pose any threat. Soon enough, she gets caught up with the others and disappears into the crowd. You wink at the baby, running the tips of your fingers over his little fuzzy head before you both traipse along.</p><p>The buildings are gorgeous. Even without the murals that take place over every exterior, they’re a beautiful collection of houses. Before Din and the baby, you always figured you’d settle down in a place like this, noisy and illuminate, close in proximity to people around you. You don’t need the noise like you used to anymore, especially in Din’s presence, but you smile up and wave at vendors hanging out of windows and doorframes as you pass by, eyes darting up the street and behind you to just soak in every single second you can. A man holds out a stick of meat and you politely decline before you see the baby salivating. </p><p>“How much?” you ask, voice almost completely swallowed up by the crowd, and the vendor shakes his head at you. </p><p>“For you and that baby? Free,” he says, and you beam at him, taking the stick gently and passing it over to the kid. You wave goodbye as the two of you continue your small stroll down the winding road. </p><p>“Cyar’ika?” you hear from your wrist, and your heart does cartwheels. </p><p>“I’m here,” you breathe, twisting around to get a better look at the flowers and ivy that are curling down from the tower in the middle of the stack of buildings, touching the tips of your fingers to the greenery. Even here, the flora and fauna persist. It’s amazing, like seeing a weed poking its head through barren pavement. “I love it here.”</p><p>“Love?” Din asks, and you nod before you remember he can’t see you. </p><p>“Love,” you whisper, reverently, “this is amazing. There are so many people—” you cut for a second, just to let another gaggle of children run through the path where you’re standing, “—and it’s gorgeous, Mando, really—I never knew all of this was here.”</p><p>“Thought it was just a place to traffic spice,” Din says, voice low and heavy in your ears. “I didn’t care about the city. Now I want to drop the bounty and just meet you there.”</p><p>You giggle. “I’m not stopping you, Mandalorian. If you want to come and find me, abandon the bounty…well, let’s just say that decision rests entirely on your shoulders.”</p><p>“That’s not what I’m wishing rests on my shoulders,” Din whispers, and the timbre of his voice, modulated and warm, rips through you. “If I wasn’t chasing a bounty, I’d hunt you instead.”</p><p>Your stomach explodes into an entire menagerie of butterflies. You gasp and pull the baby and his cradle closer to you as a speeder slowly cuts through the street. It looks like the ones the pirates used on Florrum, just modified and somehow kinder. There are also long swathes of fabric draped around either side, and as it moves past you, it’s a kaleidoscope, a beautiful optical illusion. “How would you hunt me?” you manage, trying to be covert with it at the same time you’re keeping the baby close to you and taking in every single aspect of this town. </p><p>“I know you,” Din allows, and then it sounds like he’s adjusting, and you hold your breath, pausing to lean up against a wall that’s slightly out of the chaos. “I know where you’d go.”</p><p>“So you’ve said,” you whisper, eyes darting across the rooftops, scanning for reflective armor, just in case.</p><p>“For the most part, you flock to small towns and villages. Large enough so that your face gets lost in the crowd, but small enough to make friends with the people who live there. You prefer greenery to anything else, so if it was a forest planet, I’d likely just have to track the water source in the trees to find you. If it were a planet like this, though,” Din sighs, “you’d go somewhere like where you are right now. Warm. Inhabited. A place where you can see yourself staying for a few days. You’re not a loner, so you’d need to be close to people.” He pauses. “And you need noise, so you wouldn’t be anywhere that’s completely devoid of life.”</p><p>“You’re good,” you say, eyes squinted, scanning the crowd for anything remotely metal. “Too good.”</p><p>“It’s my job,” Din answers, easily, “hunting people. I’d hope I’m good at it.”</p><p>“Not just the job,” you admit, tucking a piece of your loose hair behind your ear. “With me.”</p><p>He doesn’t speak for a while, and you figure that he just got distracted with a lead on the bounty, or that his comm cut out, so you grab the baby and start heading down the street. You can hear water and laughter coming from somewhere behind a corner, and you slowly make your way there down the cobblestone street, trying to take in everything from all angles. When you and the baby finally round the corner, you gasp. In the center of the square is an incredibly ornate fountain, water flowing in and around it. It’s massive—the pool beneath large enough for people to swim in—and the designs on it are completely unique. It’s gorgeous. You can’t get enough of it. </p><p>“Where are you?” you hear, and then you blink a few times, remembering Din’s still there on the comm. </p><p>“Where do you think I am?” you ask, starting to pace around the fountain so you can gawk at it from all sides, watching as the same little girl from earlier twirls around with her friends.</p><p>“You’ve found the fountain, then, cyar’ika?” Din says lazily, and you spin in circles trying to catch him.</p><p>“You’re reflective,” you shoot back, “big man in silver armor. Why can’t I see you?”</p><p>“I’m not there,” Din says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “I knew you’d be intrigued by the town, the colors, the noise, all of it. You can’t resist shiny things.”</p><p>“Ah,” you say, around your grin, “that explains why I keep you around.” </p><p>“You—you’re a happy person. I mean that both in terms of who you are and in terms of what you like. When there’s a celebration happening, regardless of the circumstance, you like to be on the outskirts of it, just happy to be observing it. And you love water,” he sighs, “and that fountain is one of a kind. Even if I couldn’t hear the giggles of the kids you’re around and the sound of rushing water, that’s where I’d find you.”</p><p>“Ni kart’ayl su,” you whisper, faintly. “You know me.”</p><p>Din’s quiet, and you just let the two of you sit in the silence. The weight of it all is as heavy as it is exhilarating, so you lean against a lamppost before you catch your breath. The sky here isn’t as gorgeous as the pink, glowing one on Naator, but it shines as the sun slips over the horizon line. Above you is a collection of millions of scattered stars, and you bite your lip as you look up at them, letting yourself get lost in the luminescence. </p><p>“Which one’s your favorite?” you ask, softly, before you even realize it’s you who’s spoken. </p><p>“The yellow one,” Din answers, just as quietly, and you’re about to crack a joke at him about how every star takes on that yellow hue when you’re in the atmosphere, but then your eyes catch it. It’s almost directly up above your head, twinkling and pulsing with an energy that you can just feel. It’s partly the cosmic connection and partly because you just <i>know</i> this is the star Din’s talking about. You’re about to ask him why when his voice comes through the comm again. “I gotta go,” he says, and then the line cuts. </p><p>“Be safe,” you echo to dead air, eyes still transfixed on the stars. Your neck hurts, but it’s the best kind of ache, the one you get after enjoying something stationary for too long. You’re about to ask the baby to look up at the sky with you, but when you turn your head to the left, he’s gone. Panic comes up and swells an entire flood in your chest, and you rocket to the feet, scraping both heels of your hands in your hurry. “Where are you, baby?” you ask, trying your absolute damndest to keep your voice level, but it rockets through octaves anyway. “Hey, bug, where did you go?” You’re running frantically, eyes darting every which way, stumbling over the cobblestones and people. <i>People</i>.</p><p>“Hey, has—has anyone seen a baby? He’s in a floating cradle, he’s—he’s green, he’s <i>so</i> green and tiny, he has big eyes—?”</p><p>Your heart keeps catching in your throat. You can’t find him anywhere. You want to call Din back, to break down and cry, or something in between, but neither of those things are an option right now. You’re on the verge of tears when you catch yourself on the edge of the fountain, staring into the deep water. Underneath it all is a huge collection of shiny things, coins and credits and jewelry, rippling through the foam that the flowing water is churning up. Something about it grounds you, and you close your eyes for a second. At first, it’s just to regulate your breathing, but then you remember how when you focused on the baby back on the Crest, you were able to see something clearly. </p><p>Your mind, the traitor that it is, is very stubborn in emptying. You stabilize either hand on the fountain, breathing heavily to help yourself regulate it. “Focus,” you mutter to yourself, and you envision the baby’s huge ears, his little noises, the way he holds his three fingered hand up to your forehead. <i>There</i> it is, that guide. It’s something pulsing under your skin, just a hint towards him, but it’s there. you see an alleyway, the cradle, and a light flashing, and when your eyes come back open, you scan the crowd in the dusk and you find a narrow alleyway across the square. A vendor is waving flashing lights and other decorations, and you run full speed over there. As your eyes adjust to the flickering in the dark, you see the baby in his little cradle. </p><p>“Maker above, bug,” you say, voice still broken and breathy, “you scared the absolute bantha dung out of me. What are you doing?”</p><p>His big eyes blink up at you, wide and tearful, and you pick him up as swiftly and gently as you possibly can, cradling his tiny head against your chest. His ears twitch, and you know that he can hear how hard your heart is beating, so you just hold him tighter. </p><p>“I—you cannot do that to me, baby,” you breathe, tucking him back into his egg, trying your hardest to put on a stern face, “I mean it. You can’t just disappear on a random planet. Why are you over here?”</p><p>You watch as his little face contorts, tiny fingers pointing at something down the alley. You squint, trying to see what it is he’s pointing at, and all you can see is a cutout into another part of the street that’s illuminated. You chance a glance over your shoulder, then back to where the baby is pointing. He’s so adamant about it that you swallow any bad feelings you’re having and try to tiptoe towards the source of light. </p><p>There’s a street hidden back here. The alleyway is quiet, made of old stone, and you keep your footsteps light and intentional, just in case. The baby, closely following behind you in his cradle, coos up at you. He doesn’t look panicked, and his giant ears are relaxed, so your stomach quiets just a little. When the alley ends, you peer out of both sides first. The street is small and narrow, but you can still hear the laughter and feel the warmth down the main path, so your step grows more confident. Finally, the sprawl ends, and you’re left looking at the tail end of the mural you saw earlier. You breathe out, relieved, pulling the baby from his cradle to hold him up to the light of it, the paint racing and sparkling across buildings, sidewalks. There are extensions of it on banners that are flying from rafters and windows, and you spin around with the kid, letting his huge eyes capture every second of it alongside you. </p><p>“Did you just want to show me this?” you whisper, and one of his giant ears perks up. “It’s beautiful, bug, but you can’t run off on me like that again, you understand?”</p><p>He’s ignoring you. Maker, he’s actually <i>ignoring</i> you. You know he heard you because his ears are pointed, but he’s just taking in the scenery, pretending like you aren’t even speaking. You sigh, putting him back down in his cradle, flabbergasted at his boldness. </p><p>“Baby,” you say, sternly, and finally, he looks up at you. “You cannot run away from me again. Do you understand—?” And then his tiny hand is outstretched, accelerating out of his crib, making contact with your forehead. You have about a split second of lucidity and try to recoil from it, but the second his skin touches yours, all impulses other than following him into the vision are completely erased. You can feel his warmth, how earnest his touch is, and you want to fight it off, scold him, stand your ground, but it’s like you’re tethered here. All earthly connections completely filter out, your mind racing and your vision quickening. </p><p>It isn’t like how it was last time. There’s the sound of the TIE fighters and there’s that horrible sinking feeling, but the baby’s almost pulling you past it. You see him, so small, asleep, in a ship that looks dangerously like an Imperial cruiser, and then he’s pulling you through a tunnel. You can hear him crying, his little panicked warbling, and you run as fast as you can towards him, but then he vanishes—and then, right in front of your face, are those double white lightsabers. They blind you on impact, the shadowy figure wielding them resolute and strong in their pose. You recoil, stumbling back, and you can feel the stone and earth beneath your fingers. Shuddering, you try to scramble back up with the heels of your hands and cover your face. You hear the baby crying, and you try to cut past the figure to where the baby’s noises are coming from, but they block you, and you fall back to the ground. You cry out, elbow scraping against the rough stone beneath you, trying to stand your ground, and then the lightsaber swipes at you and you recoil, rolling over, one of your hands in water. You squint. It’s a reflecting pool—or at least, it looks like it is—and somewhere in the back of your mind, you realize that the climate is the exact same as the last time the baby pulled you through one of his visions. You yank your hand out of the water, trying again to heave yourself off the ground, and when you roll, you realize that there’s someone behind you—the cloaked figure with the lightsabers isn’t trying to hurt you. You get out of the way, still trying to find the baby, and as you’ve gotten to your feet and stumble across the tile, you see Din, reflective and resolute as ever, and your cry of relief gets broken right down the middle. You run towards him, so close you can almost see your face in the beskar, and then—</p><p>You’re pulled out of the vision. You have a second, maybe two, to recover, blink, realize that one of your hands is bleeding, and then you see two people in front of you. You gasp, skittering to your feet, throwing yourself between the baby in the cradle and the two of them, frazzled, frantic. </p><p>“I know that thing,” one says to the other. “I got assigned his puck back on Nevarro.”</p><p>“You’re mistaken,” you gasp out, pushing hair out of your eyes. “That—that’s my kid, he’s not a bounty.”</p><p>“He was,” the other one leers, stepping toward you. The baby makes a small noise and your fingers find your blaster, snapping it out of the holster, clicking the safety off. “There was also that Mandalorian with the price on his head. Have you seen him anywhere, sweet thing—”</p><p>“Don’t fucking call me that,” you seethe, knocking the baby’s cradle back further with one hand. He reacts with the motion, closing the shield over it with your warning touch. “He isn’t a bounty.”</p><p>“Oh, I think it is,” the first one starts, and you clench your teeth, pushing the barrel of your blaster against his forehead. “Calm down, alright? I’ll take you anywhere in the galaxy, too, pretty little girl, just say the word.”</p><p>You pause for a second, just one single fraction of a moment, because you can hear something moving behind you. You know that it’s between you and the baby, and if anyone’s getting out of this alive, it’s him. Whatever’s behind you is gaining speed, and you have to make a gut decision. You can see the man you’re not holding captive start to move towards you, so you fire a round at the first one’s arm and narrowly dodge the other’s tackle, and then, before you can recover and make a better shot, there’s a hundred and seventy pounds of beskar kicking them both to shreds.</p><p>“The word’s no,” you say, dragging the back of your hand over your mouth, “you presumptuous piece of shit.” </p><p>The man who tackled you is a bloody pulp. The one that touched you is in even worse condition, hunched over and ragged, getting his head smashed into the pavement. </p><p>“Hey,” you say, quieter, “hey, D—Mando, hey,” and you pull at him, trying to wrangle him free from the man he’s beating to death. “I’m fine—look at me,” you interrupt yourself, arms reaching for his helmet. “I’m fine, okay?”</p><p>“Gonna kill him,” he mutters, but then you climb over his back, pulling his helmet down so that the visor’s level with yours. “He was going to—” </p><p>“I had it handled,” you interrupt, yanking his hand so bring his torso around. “Protected the baby. Had my blaster out.”</p><p>“You,” he starts, trying to look back at the two men, bruised and bloodied, laying on the cobblestone. “Had it handled.” His voice is dark, heavy. You haven’t see him this mad in ages—this ruthless, this unanchored. You know that Din’s a bounty hunter. You know what his job entails, and you’ve seen him kill men at the drop of a hat if he thinks they pose enough of a threat. But this is different. This isn’t protection. This is—vindication. So you pull at him again, letting the full weight of his body stumble both of you a few feet away. “I thought—”</p><p> “I know,” you whisper, hands still planted on either side of his helmet like you’re touching the skin of his face, rubbing your thumb across his plush pink bottom lip, against the scruff he buries into your body. “I’m <i>fine</i>.” </p><p>For whatever reason, he nods, lets all the fight drain out of his body. You don’t know why it’s now that he’s listening, but you take the win, looking back at the baby. </p><p>The baby. You hear it before you see it, you think, but when you do, your heart leaps into your throat. You don’t even have time to pull your blaster up before the first shot fires, and Din hurdles his whole reflective body in front of you as you lunge for the kid, wrapping your arms around his closed egg. The stormtrooper, true to their respective nature, doesn’t land a single shot. But even Din, marksman as he is, can’t hit him back. You look at Din for a second before you run, dragging the baby alongside you, trying your best to dodge the haphazard blaster fire.</p><p>“Where’s the Crest?” you scream, over the noise, and Din finally lands a fatal blow. It’s just in your periphery, the white armor skittering in a cartwheel over the pavement, Mandalorian bullet lodged somewhere between his ribs. </p><p>Before you can make a decision, round the corner, you’re being tackled again from behind. You shriek before realizing that you and the baby are both airborne, your scream drowned out by the noise of the jetpack. The sky stifles your cry, and you cling onto the armor with one hand and the baby’s cradle with the other, and you slam your knee into Din’s leg plate when you see two more of them in pursuit of you, shooting into the night sky, trying to strike you down. He pulls up, and you hear a bullet land against the armor, hear him hiss in your ear, cursing it. When you land, you pull the baby up the gangplank and scramble to the top of the ladder. </p><p>“Where?” you scream, again, and Din’s shooting, shooting, and then finally you hear his boots on the gangplank and you thrust the controls upward, punching whatever the next coordinates are into the Crest. You rocket up through the planet’s atmosphere, feet jittering as you try to warp, but something’s blocking it. You slam your hand down on the dashboard, ignoring the frantic beeping that says that more TIE fighters are on your tail, and Din still hasn’t climbed the ladder. You’re stuck. You don’t know what to do—if you should keep trying to warp, if you go on autopilot to make sure Din’s not bleeding out in the hull of the Crest, or if you just fly like you used to do. You have about a second to make a huge decision, and you close your eyes—just for a millisecond, long enough to steel yourself, and you exhale. </p><p>You’re not sure how to do it. You’ve never tried to before, never thought this was something you could even attempt, let alone do successfully, but you clear your mind, picture the baby, and holler as loud inside your head as you possibly can. <i>Go</i>, you scream at him, as hard as you can, mouth clamped shut, focus on the fighters that are shooting a hailstorm of rounds at the Crest. <i>Go check on your daddy.</i></p><p>Miraculously—unbelievably, he <i>does</i>. The baby whizzes in his cradle down the ladder, and you grunt, punching the sequence of buttons you know Din uses to go faster, trying to kickstart the warp out of slumber. There’s a third fighter now, and you let a string of curses out you know even your mother would recoil at. You don’t have a choice. All you want to do is climb down the ladder and make sure Din’s okay, but you can’t do that if you’re not okay, so you need to make sure that you get out of this alive. </p><p>“You got this,” you whisper, cracking your neck, bearing down on the controls. This isn’t like the starfighter you handled on Kashyyyk. This isn’t like your precious X-Wing or its shoddy replacement. The Crest isn’t brazen with artillery, it’s not sleek, it’s not what you’re used to, but it’s what you’ve got. It’s your home. And you’d be absolutely fucking damned if you let a rogue squadron of Empire knockoffs try to take that away from you.</p><p>There’s the fire. You feel it in your chest before you realize you’re thrusting the guns. They’re massive, the opposite of streamlined, but they’re powerful. You swing the ship around, feet planted on the floor, knees clenched, pulling the pilot’s seat closer. You hate killing. You haven’t done it since Jacterr, and before that, half the time, the Empire ships you were shooting at were full of droids or controlled remotely. The old guard that your parents were a part of were the last iteration of human pilots, after that, it was mostly machinery. And you hate killing. You just wrangled your big, bad, bounty hunter boyfriend off two men that would likely strip you down and leave you lifeless because you didn’t want to be the reason why they stopped breathing.</p><p>But this isn’t just you. This is your <i>family</i>. You clench your teeth, waiting for the first fighter to line up with the Crest’s bullseye, one finger glancing off the Rebel insignia on your necklace. You bargain with the Maker above, just for one second, and then the first TIE fighter syncs right into the sweet spot, staring down the barrel of the Crest’s massive blaster. You’re not letting the Empire take your family away from you for the second time. </p><p>You pull the trigger.</p><p>Sparks and dust explode out of the first fighter, and you yank the Crest up and around, then sinking it through the space. One of the other ships veers off behind you, and you slam on the thrusters, doing a very sloppy roll, letting the rear artillery glance off the wing, and you send the TIE fighter careening back into Balnab’s atmosphere. That’s worse, you know it is, because you don’t want a single person on that planet to be hurt by the son of a bitch you just sent hurdling through the sky, but the last one’s still locked on target. As you’re distracted, he shoots towards you, blasts disabling the shields. You yell as you feel the impact of it, the Crest veering dangerously off course. You take your hands off the controller for a second, twisting your hair up and out of your face, blowing air straight out. In the moment, you feel the TIE fighter make their move before they do—an aggravated assault of all the bullet rounds they have left, and with the shields down, you only have one shot. </p><p>You take it. Miraculously, the Crest decides you’re worthy of flying it, and as your fist finds the warp thruster, you start rushing through hyperspace, and you cry out in relief. You can see the ship tailing you, but the Crest daggers through warp for a few seconds, long enough to buy you time. You sit down, pulling the chair closer to the controls, cracking your neck back and forth. You only have one shot at this, and you have no idea where in the galaxy you’re going to come out, but you’ve had luck with this maneuver before.</p><p>There it is. You pull the Crest out of hyperspace as quickly as you can, ignoring how your teeth rattle in your skull on the impact. You see the gorgeous swirl of pink on Naator’s atmosphere as you zip out of warp, smile, knowing the ship behaved and took you back somewhere safe, and the second that the last fighter pulls out of the channel, you start shooting. It’s everything the Crest has left, one of the rear guns still disabled, but you sink at least seven into the fighter and you watch as it explodes into dust. You sink back in the chair, swallowing air as fast as you can. You make sure that Nevarro’s coordinates are set in the navigation, start running diagnostics on the shields, and fix the rear gun before you get up and start running down the ladder. </p><p>You skip a few steps, roll your ankle in the process, but you land and immediately run over to where Din’s on the ground. He doesn’t look unconscious, but the baby almost is, and you run your shaky fingers over his little head, peach fuzz soft to the touch, and you pick the kid up and put him in his cradle.</p><p>“Thank you, bug,” you say, quietly, letting his tiny fingers cinch down on your pointer as you press a small kiss to his forehead. </p><p>“I didn’t,” Din grunts, “need him to heal me. He’s going to be knocked out for hours.”</p><p>“I’ll be the judge of that,” you say, voice still shaky. “Where were you hit?”</p><p>“It’s fine,” Din answers, automatic. “Got more bacta patches. Slap one on and I’ll be as good as new.”</p><p>You give him your best patronizing look, and the chuckle that filters through the modulator almost makes up for the fucking fright the last ten minutes gave you. “Where were you hit?”</p><p>Din adjusts, ignoring you every protestation as he pushes himself off. “Just my leg. It went deep, but it didn’t hit anything major.”</p><p>“How do you know?” you ask, voice breathless, scrambling down to the armor on his legs, wrestling off pieces of beskar. You find the slug from the stormtrooper’s blaster embedded deep in his leg. “Maker above, Din, he—I thought stormtroopers always <i>missed</i>.” </p><p>You rifle through the shit all over the hull, eyes scanning frantically for the bacta patches and something to pull the bullet out with, fighting back the wooziness. You usually don’t faint at the sight of blood—you’re clumsy, you’ve seen it plenty of times—but seeing how big the wound is has your stomach turning, and coupled with the knowledge that you definitely killed two people, maybe three—it’s enough to make you want to hurl. </p><p>“I got it,” Din says, easily, and as you turn around with your fingers wrapped around the patch, his gloved fingers are digging into his bare leg.</p><p>“Do—not!” you shriek, trying to bat his hands away. “You really are a masochist, you know that?” you say, wiping the heel of your hand cross your mouth, trying to shake the impulse to puke out of you. Din winces, grabs the patch, and presses it over the hole in his leg. </p><p>“Cyar’ika,” he says, and you hate how easily it makes you melt, how your body just fissures out and collapses with the sound of it, “you saved me.”</p><p>“You just fished that thing out yourself,” you protest, but then his hands are on your face, and everything else stops. </p><p>“You piloted the ship, shot down three TIE fighters, and set us on course to Nevarro,” Din interrupts, “singlehandedly.” </p><p>“Well,” you say, and despite your resistance, because Din just got shot and dug the slug out of his leg, and there’s blood all over the both of you, he pulls you into his lap. “I was a Rebel fighter pilot.”</p><p>“You don’t scare easy,” he agrees, and you let yourself sag against him, sighing against his chest. “You’re good in a crisis.” </p><p>“You’re bleeding,” you protest, hands against his chest. You catch the sight of your own in your reflection before you realize it’s yours, and then Din’s snatching at your hand. You scraped hard against the ground while you were still in the baby’s vision, and there’s blood gushing a steady stream down your arm. “Oh.” </p><p>Before you can resist, before you can do anything, you’re being lifted off Din’s lap and somehow slung tight against his torso as he moves towards the fresher. All your demands for him to sit back down are drowned out by his hands in your hair, and you stop putting up resistance. It’s not working, anyways, and as he starts pulling your clothes off of you, any part of you that wanted him to stop completely fades away. </p><p>“You’re bleeding,” you echo, halfheartedly, as the steam from the shower fills the air in the fresher, and you let Din step you out of your underwear. </p><p>“You are too,” he says, and then slaps a bacta patch over your wound. You wince at the impact, but when he starts pulling his own clothes off, armor clunking against the floor, any protests you have are completely eradicated. Your hand is sore, and you can feel the tingly, aching medicine start to pulsate through the cut, but you just watch from the ground as Din steps out of his pants, then his tunic, and you swallow as you see the contours of his torso, the way his hair travels down his belly, eyes catching on all the scars he has over his body, some you patched up, and some that came into existence long before you were in the picture. You’re about to slap your hand over your eyes when Din lifts you up, makes sure your knees don’t wobble, and then gently pushes you into the shower. </p><p>“But—” </p><p>“Close your eyes, cyar’ika,” he says, and then, unmodulated, “I trust you.”</p><p>When his body presses up against yours, the warmth of his torso thundering against the water on your back, you feel yourself absolutely melt. Your eyes aren’t fully shut, because you don’t trust yourself well enough to not slip without some semblance of where the ground is and where the ledge of the shower juts out, and you watch as the blood turns pink with the water, rushes down the drain. </p><p>“You’re warm,” is all you can manage, feeling one arm wrap around your torso, and you sigh, all the tension rushing out of your body. “Really—mmm.” You can feel the soap being dragged down your back, suds pooling to either side as Din starts scrubbing you clean. You let him rub the soap into your skin, completely speechless, inhaling sharply when his sudsy hand slips from your shoulder blade around to the curve of your chest, and as his lips find the hollow of your neck, his other hand skates down your scar to between your legs. You’re trying so hard to find the words to scold him for doing <i>this</i> when he just got <i>shot</i>, but when his fingers slip between your legs, everything else completely flies out of the window. You let yourself be held there, pulsing under Din’s touch, the rest of the universe completely void.  </p><p>“That’s it, my sweet girl,” he whispers, and the way that his voice fucking rips through your body makes your knees sag. He pushes one of his up for you to lean against as you feel him harden against the small of your back, and you moan, eyes squeezed shut, head thrown backward against his shoulder. You’re trying so hard to just feel him, not to let your mind race, but you can’t help thinking about the scruff on his face that you caught on Trandosha, the color of his skin, the way his lips are so plush and pink, how you <i>know</i> his eyes are brown—</p><p>This his betraying Din’s trust. After everything he told you on Kashyyyk, after knowing that you’ll eventually see him, all of him—it’s horrible, you’re a dirty, dirty, depraved and greedy person—you let your mind fill in the blanks as he fucks you with his fingers, imagining how hard he’ll make you cum when you can see the fire blaze in his eyes when he’s buried deep inside you. </p><p>You moan, strangled, knees fluttering out of control with how hard it is. You can’t even muster up the energy to push your wet hair out of your eyes, to say thank you—any of it. You just let him hold you there, cresting on the edge of another orgasm, and as you feel his hot lips up against the ridge of your ear, whispering something silent and foreign that you can’t catch, his muddle finger plunges deep inside you again, and you choke out. </p><p>“Too—” you moan, forehead slamming against the slick wall with the weight of it, “—good to me.”</p><p>“Oh no,” Din’s voice is deep, electric, reverberating places you can’t quantify, “you haven’t even seen how good I can be to you, cyar’ika.”</p><p>“Beg to differ,” you gasp. </p><p>“Cyar’ika?” </p><p>“Yeah?”<br/>“Shut up.” His voice, rich and deep and completely unencumbered, makes you ignore the command you usually hate, because before you’re able to register it as something incendiary, his hands are slipping down to your hips, lips lost in the shallow of your collarbone. You blink out the water that’s collected in the corners of your eyes, trying to ignore every impulse to move your hands from where they’re braced against the wall of the shower, steam wafting from the showerhead across the both of you. “What do you want?”</p><p>“You,” you say, earnest, honest. The word comes out like desperation, like prayer. You shudder as his lips travel down the back of your spine, blossoming in places where you know your skin’s been marred by the hazards of spending your whole life protecting and defending. Your knees are wobbling, still. They’d be knocking together if you weren’t braced with them planted in line with your shoulders, and as Din’s mouth moves from your spinal cord over the curve of your left cheek, you gasp You aren’t prepared for him to crawl underneath you, twisting carefully. “Oh—” </p><p>“Here?” Din asks, and you can barely hear him over the rush of the shower. </p><p>Your hand slips down, and, blindly, you knot it in his hair. He’s moved from behind you to sitting on the shower floor—or crouching, you’re not really sure, because your eyes are clamped shut—with either hand on the back of your thighs, bracing himself against you so he can eat you out from in between your legs. His tongue, expert and long, flickers up and down, and you’re pretty sure the imprint it leaves behind your eyelids as Din licks slow circles around your clit matches the stars the Crest is currently hurtling through.</p><p>“The—re,” you cry, the syllable cracking in half. It’s half bliss, half torture, because you want to touch him, you want to swallow him, you want—more than he’s giving you, which just is not fucking fair, because he’s spending full minutes tasting you, dipping his tongue back in for more, but, Maker, you have about maybe ten more seconds before you collapse on his face, knees weak and wobbly on the shower floor, and your hand finds contact with one of his cheeks. “Din—I want—I want more, I really do—but this, um, position isn’t exactly sustainable—?”</p><p>Before you have a second to react, he’s out from under your legs, resuming the position that he started in, pressed up against your back, cock hard and pulsing against your skin. </p><p>“You talk too much,” he says, gruffly, his lips finding the other side of the collarbone he didn’t kiss earlier, hands digging into the sore muscles on your back. “Tell me what to do.”</p><p>You pause, biting down on your lip. You can tell that the fire in his veins earlier isn’t totally gone, that his roughness right now was triggered with pulverizing the creeps that harassed you, the chase to the Crest, and getting shot in the leg. Din doesn’t do things halfway, but with you, he’s been gentle. You’ve seen the way he reveres you, the way he only goes as far as you dictate, how he shines when he gets to spend hours pleasing you, mouth languid and lavish between your legs. And you love the way he treats you—you’re his equal, his counterpart. He respects you.</p><p>But all you want right now is to be fucked like you were on Naator—speechless. </p><p>“Fuck me,” you finally manage, leaning your forehead against the shower wall again. “Don’t be gentle.”</p><p>“Cyar’ika—” </p><p>“You talk too much,” you throw over your shoulder, butterflies soaring into your throat, heart fluttering. You know how he reacts when he’s provoked—it’s just never been you on the tail end of it. “Fuck me.”</p><p>You can’t tell for certain, but you think Din lets out a strangled noise, hand leaving your shoulder to pull your body off the shower wall, angling your hips as arched as they’ll go to bury himself deep inside you. You feel the head go in, and you gasp with the sensation, hot water beating down on your back as Din pushes in, agonizingly slow, and when he’s in as far as he can, he pulls the wet hair from your ear. “If it’s too much—stop me.” </p><p>You nod. “Okay,” you whisper, barely anything at all, and then he’s fucking you. It’s not all quick and fast and hard like you were expecting it to be—the rhythm of how he’s pounding into you is varied. His hands find your hips, and you lean against his touch, trying your best to angle your legs so he can dig into you. </p><p>“You’re—so <i>tight</i>,” Din chokes out, “my good girl.” </p><p>“Oh,” you moan, and then his pace changes, and your forehead is slamming against the shower walls as one of his hands tangles in your wet hair, “that’s me.” </p><p>“It is,” Din grits out, his thumbs digging into your sides. “You—fuck, I mean it. I’m never l—leaving this ship again.” You’re not even sure that he’s saying anything coherent, if your mind is filling in the blanks. The way he slams into you, how hard you can feel his cock pulses when he hits you at your apex, you’re pretty sure you’ve forgotten what words are supposed to sound like. “You feel so good, cyar’ika—” </p><p>“Tell me,” you manage, voice ragged. Your eyes blink open, just for a second, and you see how Din’s entire arm is wrapped around your waist, braced and tan and <i>huge</i>, and you shudder as your eyes close. “tell me how good.” </p><p>“Better—better than anyone. Knew—it before I even touched you. It’s all I thought about—fuck¬—”</p><p>“For months I touched myself,” you say, between his thrusts, “pretending—it was you. Came all over—your bed, the floor of the ship, wishing it was around you.” </p><p>Din moans, and you can feel how ragged he is. You’re amazed the two of you haven’t passed out with the heat of the water, the way he’s pounding into you, the way you’re taking it, desperate, needy. His hand tightens in your hair, and the pain of it immediately dissolves into pleasure as you hear the way he’s reciting your name, hot and tight, into your ear, like it’s not even your name anymore, like it’s something sacred. “I’m supposed to—it should be me, f—” </p><p>Somehow, you know what Din means. You connect the dots, pull them free from where his mouth isn’t forming around them. You know he’s trying to fuck you senseless, trying to be fully dominant, taking control like he did on Naator, but with every word that’s coming out of your mouth, your hips are bucking back against you. He’s supposed to be the one fucking you, that’s what he’s trying to say. He’s supposed to try to fuck you speechless. But your words are still there, and his aren’t. </p><p>“Too bad,” you finally cry out. Your pelvis doesn’t have the same rhythm to it, but you push against the shower walls with your palms and buck against him as hard and consistently as you can, trying to fuck him back in the same, unbelievable, magical way he fucks you. “I’m fucking you speechless, Mandalorian.”</p><p>He moans. “Cyar’ika—” The words are barely there, ragged and half-formed. His face is buried in your neck, “never—le—leaving, please—” </p><p>“What do you want?” you ask, and between the rush of the water, the blood pumping in your ears, and the fact that you have your Mandalorian, man made of iron and steel and strength, completely and utterly undone in the hollow of your neck, you have to strain to hear his answer. “Tell me what you want.”</p><p>“I wanna—cu-c—” he stutters, and you feel his legs go slack, “fuck, I—” </p><p>“Cum,” you whisper, the single word doing somersaults in your stomach. You don’t even care that  you’re not on the precipice of an orgasm with him, because you feel fucking powerful. The most intimidating man, the legend of this ruthless bounty hunter known across the galaxy is crumbling because he’s inside of you. Before, you were going to tell him to fuck you like he owned you, like his life depended on it, but now—you’re even. In this, too, you’re equals. You fall apart under his touch, he falls apart under yours. “Now.” </p><p>When he does, both of you crumple under the weight of it. Stars, you can feel how much he’s leaking into you, how hard he came, how intensely he let you slam your hips back into him so he could sink into you. You’re both gasping and dizzy and undone as he finally pulls out. You stay slumped against the wall, recovering, and when you turn around, your eyes are closed. “Let me take care of you,” you whisper, feeling around in the dark to find where his body is, trying to figure out how to clean him off. </p><p>“You already did,” Din murmurs, “it’s my turn.”</p><p>His hand clamps down over your eyes, and they blink open with the sudden sensation, and then immediately snap back closed. You’re about to ask how, but then he’s lathering up and pulling the soap through your hair, over your shoulders, in the valleys of your stomach, letting the suds trickle down both of your legs. “Din?”</p><p>“Yeah?” You can hear his distraction, the way he’s intent on cleaning you. </p><p>“Kiss me,” you whisper, and all the brazenness that coursed through you just minutes ago has quieted. He does. You kiss him back. When he finally turns off the water, pulls his helmet back on so you can open your eyes and dry yourself off, both of you are quiet. You follow him, wordless, out to the nest of blankets on the ground, wrapped up in fresh underwear and one of his tunics and something warm. He’s still silent, and your heart is fluttering off somewhere worried. “Are you okay?” you chance, the darkness around you amplifying the words. “Was that—okay?”</p><p>“Yes,” Din says, and pulls you in closer to your chest. “I’m—I have a hard time relinquishing the role of protector. I’m…dominant. You—you’re the only one I feel safe enough to hold it instead.” </p><p>You curl yourself closer to his chest. You don’t know what to say, what will be big and monumental enough to give him the full and honest truth of it. </p><p>“Ni kart’ayl su,” you manage, finally, and Din’s arm skates over your lower back. You can feel him nodding in the darkness. “I’m—I’m never leaving you.”</p><p>He doesn’t say anything back, but you know he understands, know that you’re echoing his words back to him not to throw it in his face, but to reassure him. </p><p>“What happened out there? Before I showed up?”</p><p>You squint, trying to place his question. “Back on Balnab?”</p><p>He nods against your touch. </p><p>“The baby pulled me behind him in the alley,” you whisper. “He—he does this thing, sometimes, where he presses his hand to my forehead and he makes me see things. Like dreams, almost, I guess—but they’re his, I think, not mine. I don’t know how he does it, but… he pulled me along into this vision with him, and I—I didn’t see the men come up until I pulled myself out of it.”</p><p>Din’s quiet. “How does he do that?”</p><p>“I—I don’t know,” you answer, and even though it’s the truth, some part in the back of your heart burns with your suspicion that you might be Force sensitive, and that’s why the baby can communicate with you, but it’s a half-baked theory at best, and you don’t want that to be just another thing that Din’s worried about. </p><p>“What did you see?”</p><p>Your stomach churns. “Um, fragments. The baby, crying…TIE fighters, you, at the end. There’s this figure in robes—white lightsabers—that’s all I can remember. It seemed clear when I was inside it, but…” you swallow, teeth finding your bottom lip, “I can’t remember it now.” This isn’t entirely a lie, but it’s not entirely the truth either. </p><p>“They’re just visions,” Din assures you, but it’s after a long silence, after you’ve already convinced yourself they’re premonitions. You nod, hesitantly, exhausted, letting the conversation end there.<br/>You’re not sure how long you lay there together in the darkness, but you just let yourself be held, your arms around Din’s neck, holding him back. When you hear noise coming from the corner, you move before Din does, wordlessly pulling the baby from where he’s toddling on the floor to right between the tow of you, warm, safe. You slip off somewhere into dreamland, but you can hear Din murmuring something under his breath—something in Mando’a, you’re almost sure, but you can’t translate the syllables. You’re not sure if he’s talking to you or the baby, so you just press your lips against his bare chest, let yourself fall into sleep.</p><p> </p><p>It feels like you’ve woken up upside down. There’s screeching from the ship, Din’s blundering around half dressed in armor, and you feel woozy. It takes a few minutes to synthesize—the reason why you feel like you’re upside down is because you are. Somewhere in the middle of the night, the baby untucked his tiny body from the tangle of your limbs and climbed up the ladder by himself. And now he’s flying the ship.</p><p>You didn’t realize just how many curse words Din knows—he tries his best to keep himself in check with those impressionable giant green ears always perked up—but he lets the whole of them slide. Some of them are in Basic, some are definitely in Mando’a, and he even grunted in the guttural way that makes you think of Huttese or maybe Tusken, but you can’t tell. You’re too busy running around the hull, pulling shoes on, and trying your best not to hurl. By the time you make it up the ladder, Din’s taken care of the little gremlin and is giving him the sternest talking to you’ve ever heard. The baby’s giant eyes look up at you, on the precipice of leaking, and it breaks your heart a little to give him a look that translates to “listen to your dad”, but you have to do it anyways. United front. </p><p>As expected, the baby does cry, but you just wrap him up in your arms, little bundle of green and magic and love, and let him nuzzle in against your chest as he wears himself—and his tears—out. Din keeps turning around halfway to look at the both of you. You’re not sure where you are, but you don’t seem to be in warp, and you just let yourself be surrounded by Din’s comfortable silence, the solace of the quiet of space trickling on as the Crest moves through the galaxy. </p><p>“Shit,” you say, and immediately slap a hand over your mouth, eyes wide, looking down at the baby, who looks a little too peaceful to really be sleeping. “Din?”</p><p>“Yeah?” he asks, head slightly cocked to the left. </p><p>“The bounty,” you breathe, heart hammering. “Did you—”</p><p>“He’s in the carbonite.” </p><p>You furrow your eyebrows, trying to figure out how Din managed to wrangle another bounty onto the Crest and find the two of you in distress so quickly, and by the way he’s sitting in his chair, you know he can sense your mental math. He lets you struggle, just for a second, before chuckling. </p><p>“I made quick work of him, cyar’ika.”</p><p>“That’s impressive,” you say, honest. “Speedy silver man.”</p><p>“Where do you come up with these things?” he asks, but you can hear the humor in his voice. “All these little titles for me?”</p><p>“Natural instinct,” you volley back, bringing up one knee to your chest, letting the other leg dangle, gently swinging beneath you. “And my parents. They used to…have contests. When they were on missions, or just together. Come up with names for each other that were embarrassing, and then try to bring them up in front of the other Rebels with straight faces. I—I never really got to participate,” you add, quietly, “so I’m making up for lost time.”</p><p>Din’s quiet. </p><p>“I didn’t really…I didn’t really have friends,” you say, softly. “The other kids on the base, sure, and the people I met when I was a freelance pilot, but…my parents were my friends. I didn’t see them a lot because they were always in the middle of missions, y’know, trying to save the universe and all.” You swallow, eyes finding the luminescence of the stars outside of the Crest’s front window. “So I’d make names—wild, ridiculous ones—up for myself.”</p><p>“Like what?” Din asks, and you can see from how the armor is resting on his body alone that he’s rapt, all ears.</p><p>“Her Highness Rebel Rouser Pilotess of the Outer Rim,” you answer, immediately, like it’s obvious. “Duh.”</p><p>“Was that all?” His voice is light through the modulator, but he sounds curious. Intrigued. You gently move the sleeping baby from your arms to his cradle, curling up around the knee against your chest. He’s not as intent as he usually is, not as interrogative—he’s treading lightly. Maker, you love him. You know that he knows talking about your parents always tugs somewhere deep and heavy inside your chest, even when you’re joking. You love him. You love him so much. It doesn’t even fit inside you anymore. </p><p>“No,” you answer, past the lump in your throat. He’s a foot and a half away from you right now, but it’s a foot and a half too much. You want to be held, to sit in his lap, to feel his fingers, reverent, in your hair. “I—I have plenty. I could pull them out of thin air if I wanted to. After my parents died, I…I missed them. I grieved them. It felt too much like moving on if I kept doing it, like I was still trying to fill in their absence. But my life with Jacterr came soon after, and I went through one wreck to the next. When I woke up with my scar, bleeding and half dead and alone, all I wanted was my mom to wash my hair. And when I wasn’t strong enough to fly, all I wanted was my dad to pick me off the ground and make me.” Your voice is coming out in shards. You’ve never admitted this to anyone, never thought you could talk about something so guttural, so full of grief, but you’re here, silver man you love right in front of you. “Novalise.” </p><p>“What?” Din asks. </p><p>“Novalise,” you repeat. “It—before the rebellion, my father was a transcriber of old and lost languages. There’s a collection of words that belong to cultures that aren’t here anymore, but he kept them and taught them all to me.” You’re focused on the stars, and you feel it tug in your chest, that great cosmic connection. “The word, novay’lain, it means to shine. I’m not sure what language it’s even from, now, but it’s always stuck in my head. When I was a kid, I couldn’t remember how to say it. I kept saying Novalise, and my dad—” you swallow, throat closed, “my dad tried to show me how to say it right, but I never could.” You pull the Rebel insignia off your chest, showing the silver necklace to Din, who turned around the second your voice broke. “My necklace—it’s scratched on the back. I’ve told everyone that it was an accident, but the truth is, after my parents died, I tried to carve a star into the charm. Something to shine on after they left me.”</p><p>Din’s quiet, so still. You can feel how he wants to wrap you up, and you can’t break contact with the stars outside the Crest’s window, but when his gloved hand finds your face, you let yourself be pulled into his current, your grief a wave, his body a barrier. You’re not even sure if you’re crying until you feel him trying to wipe your tears away, and after what feels like an eternity in his arms, he gently places you back in your seat, hand clenched in yours. </p><p>“Change of plans,” Din finally says, and it’s as gentle as you’ve ever heard him. “We’re still going to Nevarro, but I’m taking you somewhere before I turn in the bounties. And we’re going there now.”</p><p>“But the Guild—”</p><p>“The Guild can wait. The bounties are frozen, they won’t know the difference.”</p><p>“Karga,” you start again, and Din shakes his head.</p><p>“Karga can wait too. Don’t argue with me, cyar’ika, not about this.”</p><p>You follow him into his calm silence, just watching as the Crest accelerates into warp, vision oscillating between Din, the baby, and the space outside. Your thumb and pointer finger are clasped around your necklace, pinching it so hard you can feel the desperate ridges you carved into it, wishing you could tell your younger self you’d found family again. </p><p>The descent into Nevarro is slow, and you watch as the planet swirls and swells in front of you as Din expertly navigates the Crest down on its volcanic surface. Everything looks like it’s been painted over with ash and flame. It was a sight you used to think unwelcome, in the two times you were on the planet’s surface. When you crashed your X-Wing, you harbored a bitter hatred for the atmosphere of lava and the way it swallowed your ship whole, and not being able to come with Din the last time you were here to pick up pucks, you think you’ve sort of forced yourself into disdain for Nevarro. But something about Din’s gentleness, the way he listened to your heartbreak and hurt and changed his mind to take you somewhere special made you believe in Nevarro again, in its possibility. </p><p>The baby squeals in his egg, and you pick him up, holding him close to your chest. He smells like the metal of the interior and that sweet baby smell that always follows him around, and you slowly get to your feet as Din pulls into a landing bay. When he finally gets up, he pauses for a second, taking the glove off his right hand so he can brush up against your face, the palm of his hand entirely his, soft and warm. You close your eyes against the significance of his touch. You let him hold you there for as long as he wants to, and when you climb down the ladder, he outstretches his freshly gloved hand to hold onto yours. </p><p>“Where are we going?” you ask, softly, and look as the baby pulls his cradle up beside you, beaming smile on his face. “The last time we were here, you said Nevarro was dangerous.” </p><p>“It is,” Din says, voice deep through the modulator. “Less so now though. They’ve reformed Nevarro City since the last time we were here, and with the Guild rallying around Karga and Cara becoming the Marshal, it’s safer territory.”</p><p>You keep a watch on the darkening horizon. In the sky, you can see the singular star that Nevarro encircles, trying to count the seconds before the dusk fades out. The town is smaller than the city Din described, but it’s lively even in the darkness. It reminds you a bit of Balnab—it doesn’t have that same colorful celebration, but it seems to be populated by a strong community of people. You watch as a few pass you by. </p><p>“We’re going in here,” Din says, quietly, and you stumble behind him as he turns with his hand in yours into a cantina. Most of the bars you’ve been in are endearingly dirty, save for the few on Coruscant that were flashy and sleek, but this one feels like a respectable establishment. Everything looks clean, there’s plenty of space for customers, and the bar is outfitted with drinks from all over the galaxy. You hear Greef Karga’s voice before you see him, booming and excited.</p><p>“Mando!” </p><p>Din sighs, but he doesn’t actually sound annoyed. He lifts up the hand that isn’t hanging onto yours in greeting, and slowly moves over to Karga’s table, standing at the end of it almost awkwardly. “Hi,” he grunts. “Can you watch the kid for an hour?”</p><p>Karga’s gaze flickers from you to the baby back to Din, and you can feel the way your eyebrows furrow. You’ve never seen Din trusting anyone beside you to take after the kid, especially leaving him alone. You know that he and Karga have a tentative friendship, that despite the annoyance Din seems to portray whenever he’s around him, he trusts Karga. His face lights up at the proposition. “Baby!” he exclaims, picking the kid up with his big hands, gentle with it. “You’ll learn how to negotiate with bounty hunters in no time.”</p><p>“You’re out of your mind if you think the kid will ever learn how to negotiate.” The voice is coming from behind you, and you turn around, startled, hand still laced in Din’s. You notice as you whip back to see who spoke that most of the patrons in the cantina are staring at the tall, reflective man in Mandalorian armor with his hand intertwined with a very un-Mandalorian woman, and something about it makes you gleam with a strange sense of pride. “I’ve seen him commit war crimes.”</p><p>“As if you could ever convict him,” Din volleys back, and you raise your eyebrows at his brazenness. </p><p>“Far too cute,” Karga agrees. “No one would believe you.”</p><p>“Ah, what good is he to me as a criminal anyway?” the woman asks, and then her smile flickers from the kid to you, changing its shape from fondness to friendliness. “I’ve heard so much about you. Welcome to Nevarro.”</p><p>“You must be Cara,” you say, faintly, eyes drawn to the tattoo on her cheek that matches the insignia that dangles from your beck. “It’s so nice to meet you.”</p><p>She grins at you again before sliding into Karga’s booth, bumping an elbow into Din’s unarmored side as she swings herself down. You remember Din telling you she was an ex-shocktrooper, so you knew she was tough, but there’s a kindness about her that doesn’t come alongside that connotation. “She’s pretty,” Cara says, gaze switching from you to Din. “It’s a shame you don’t match up.” </p><p>Your stomach turns over at the insinuation—had Cara seen Din without his mask?—but then she chuckles, her eyes fixed on you again, and you know she’s kidding. With the way that her gaze keeps getting pulled across the room to a gorgeous woman in deep purple armor on her lower half and a tube top above her waist, you piece two and two together—Cara and Din are friends because she helped save him and the baby, and they’re <i>just</i> friends because she’s not interested in him. As much as you resented your jealousy already, it melts away with the way Din’s position changes, his stature, his posture. He feels relaxed with the two of them like he does with you, enough to watch the baby, enough to trust them. </p><p>“You’ll watch him?” Din echoes, and both Cara and Karga nod at him. “We’ll be back soon,” he says, nodding, whisking you behind him.</p><p>“Nice to meet you!” you call over your shoulder, hand laced in Din’s. It’s completely dark outside now, and you’re too preoccupied at looking for any glowing ground that has rivers of lava flowing through it to notice where he’s leading you. It’s around so many corners and you don’t have any experience in the layout of the city, so you accept the fact that you’re just following him, silently, lovingly, until he leads you into an opening that sprawls down—underground—in cascading steps. You stop short. </p><p>“I—” you start, inhaling sharply. “I don’t do underground well.” </p><p>Din pauses to look at you. You can almost see your reflection in the visor. “It’ll be quick,” he says, voice gentle. “I promise, cyar’ika. I wouldn’t bring you down here if I didn’t…” he trails off, sighing. “You showed me something personal earlier. I want to…I want to do the same thing.”</p><p>Your eyebrows furrow, looking back and forth from the helmet to the opening, and finally you nod. You trust him, and you also know where the exit is if you need to, so you swallow a mouthful of fresh air and exhale it as Din leads you down the pathway. Underneath, there’s a collection of tunnels branching off in every direction, and you follow Din, who seems to know exactly where he’s going. The light from above the ground is long gone, and you try not to panic, gripping his hand as hard as you can to keep yourself moving forward. He’s quiet, like always—but there seems to be a heaviness with his silence. After you round a few more corners, you realize what this is—there’s a huge pile of Mandalorian helmets and rogue pieces of armor. It looks like a massacre. You choke up, trying to stifle your cry so Din doesn’t have to console you in the wake of his people being murdered, but he looks back at you anyway, squeezes his grip to acknowledge it. You let him pull you into another room, where a single Mandalorian helmet lays against the cold ground, and after you’ve digested the death that must have happened here, you look around.</p><p>It looks like a workshop, a Mandalorian one. Everything is organized, and there’s a huge vat in the middle of the room. As you take stock of the tools and surfaces across the space, you realize that this is probably where their armor was forged, where the special signet on Din’s pauldron was forged. </p><p>“I made a choice,” Din says, breaking the silence, and you whip back around to see him. “When I found the kid. First, I—I handed him off to the enemy. Imperial associated contacts.” You can hear him swallow. “I wasn’t proud of it. I knew it was wrong. So I went back, I rescued him. Karga and the rest of the Guild tried to stop me, because the price on the kid’s head was astronomical. But I saw him, alone, a foundling.” He pauses, and you take the chance to lean up against the cold metal of the vat, pulling gently at either side of Din’s torso. He steps closer to you, close enough for you to touch him, far enough to see his visor without tipping your head back. “I was a foundling,” he says, and you remember when he told you about being taken in by Mandalorians when you were talking about family way back on Naboo. “And so was the baby, and the Mandalorians here rallied behind me. They chose to protect me because I was protecting the kid. They’re warriors by nature, but it wasn’t…about a fight. It was about family.” The helmet turns, looking at the mask on the ground. “I went on the run, trying to get the baby away from the rest of the Guild. Then the leftovers from the Empire got on my tail, and I had to come back here, trust Karga long enough to try and beat the enemies closing in.”</p><p>“An alliance?” you ask, softly. </p><p>Din nods. “It went into a standoff. The rest of the town were either evacuated or massacred, and Moff Gideon and his squadron of troopers tried to smoke out me, the kid, Karga, Cara, and a droid. I almost died. I thought I wasn’t going to make it, but the droid…helped me.” You don’t try to crack any jokes about Din’s grievance with droids. The way his voice is shaped right now feels so heavy. “We escaped down here, where the enclave of Mandalorians lived. All of them were killed.” He pauses again, and you don’t try to fill the silence. You find his hands, and ease your fingers between his, a safe place to land. “The Armorer,” he points with his helmet to the singular one on the ground, “helped us. She held off the Imperial forces so we could escape, she gave me my signet, and…” Din pauses again. “She—she told me I need to return the baby to one of his kind.”</p><p>You do a double take, eyelashes fluttering as you try to understand. “His kind?”</p><p>“Jedi,” Din says, his voice faraway. “People who can—use the Force.”</p><p>You swallow, the noise filling the immediate air around you. “How?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Din admits, shifting against your touch. “I haven’t—I haven’t forgotten that he needs to find his people, but I don’t want to give him up.”</p><p>“Give him <i>up</i>?” you say, voice shooting through three octaves. “No way, Din, fuck that, you’re not giving away our kid—” You cut yourself off. You just said <i>our</i>, and you don’t know how to fix your mistake until Din grabs your face with both hands. </p><p>“I’m not going to give him up, cyar’ika, not unless I have to. But he—he deserves to be with people who can help him, who can care for him better than I can.” </p><p>“No one,” you start, voice wavering, “can take care of the baby better than you can. He’s—he’s your family, Din.” You wet your mouth, tongue sliding in and out of your lips. “Besides, I don’t think there’s really any…any Jedi left,” you tack on. </p><p>“I know,” Din says, sighing, ghosting his thumb over your cheek. “But I have to keep looking. And Gideon will keep trying to find us. This is the Way.”</p><p>You nod. You don’t know what to say. Everything about this feels monumental, like it’s resonating somewhere cosmic and starry. You’ve seen Din up close, in every aspect of the word, but this is different. This isn’t just honest, it’s raw. Real. It’s him showing you the scary stuff, the same you just showed him. </p><p>“Wherever you go,” you say, finally, and Maker, the silence around you is crushing, it’s so loud, “I’ll follow you. I’ll—I’ll help you find a Jedi who can help the kid. There is nothing in the universe that could tear me away from you.”</p><p>He’s quiet. You try to stay there, silent in your resolve, but everything around you is rushing and loud. “I know.”</p><p>“I get it,” you manage. “How it feels to belong to something bigger than you, and how it feels to find family in a place where everything else was torn away from you. I lost my parents, and my world stopped. I became someone I had to in order to survive, and then I met you, and I’m not running from the hurt anymore. I’m running to you.” </p><p>“Cyar’ika,” Din starts. </p><p>“Please,” you whisper. “Your parents got killed when you were young—younger than me, right?” He nods. “The Mandalorians became your family, in whatever way that means to you. Your clan. Your people. And then they died, too. I—” you inhale, placing both of your hands gently on either side of Din’s helmet, “The baby is your family. <i>I’m</i> your family, Din, and we’re not going to leave you.”</p><p>You want more than ever to see his face, to stare into his brown eyes, to make sure he knows how serious you are, how nothing could ever tear him away from you and the kid. You just stare at him, holding his mask like you would his face, fingers stroking over the place where his cheekbones should be. </p><p>“When I saw you,” Din says, and his voice feels loaded, intentional, “for the first time…there was just something about you. Most people don’t—I intimidate them. You looked right at me—right into where my eyes are, beneath the helmet, and you told me you don’t scare easily.” You nod. “I didn’t believe you,” he whispers. “Most people see me and run. But then you followed me. And…somewhere along the way, cyar’ika, I started following you.”</p><p>You can feel the tears welling up in your eyes. </p><p>“I know you,” Din continues. “I know your secrets, I know where you’d hide, and I know it because you let me. I usually have to chase people down. But you walked right into me and you—you just fit. With the baby. On the Crest. With me,” he says, and you step forward, closing the gap between you. “You found me, and everything made sense.” </p><p>You stifle a sob in your throat. “Din—” </p><p>“Ni kar’tayl su,” he starts. </p><p>You can’t help it. You interrupt him. “I love you.” </p><p>Both of you are stunned into silence. This wasn’t where you wanted to say it—you had it all planned out, how you wanted to have Din in your arms, unmasked, in the dark, every part of him laid bare. You wanted to tell him you loved him when he wasn’t in the armor—to prove that it wasn’t the Mandalorian you’re head over heels for, it’s the man underneath. You wanted to do it gently, softly—not blurt it right out. But after all this, after patching his wounds and being trusted enough to take control and spilling your secrets you’ve kept for years and being brought here, to this place, this desecrated sacred ground because he trusts you. He knows you. He might even love you back. </p><p>You don’t need him to say it. You don’t even know if you want him to, if it would make your confession better or worse, so you just stand there, the weight of your words suspended in that dual silence. “I love you,” you echo, voice as quiet as you can make it, “so much.”</p><p>“Cyar’ika,” Din starts.</p><p>“You don’t have to—” </p><p>“Ni kar’tayl su darasuum,” he interrupts. </p><p>You nod, repeating his words. You want to kiss him. You want to stay here forever. You can’t decide between any of the choices, because they all feel right and wrong all at once. Din’s standing in front of you, in your grasp, and you just find solace in the silence, knowing what it means to hold him, to be trusted the way that you are. </p><p>“Novay’lain,” Din says, finally, and the sacred word coming out of his mouth makes your heart flip over in your chest. “It means to shine?”</p><p>You whisper yes, eyes filling with tears. “To shine,” you echo, “to radiate, maybe. It changes depending on the conjugation.”</p><p>“What does Novalise mean, then?” he asks, and you exhale, shaky. </p><p>“I don’t…I don’t know for certain,” you whisper, voice barely there at all. “I don’t even know if that’s an accurate conjugation, I was a kid—” </p><p>“To radiate,” Din says, “to shine in silence.”</p><p>You nod slowly, and then his hands are moving upward, and before his fingers even find the edges of his helmet, your eyes closed. When he kisses you, it feels like a supernova, a light starting in your belly traveling all the way up to your mouth. “To shine,” Din whispers in between kisses, “to radiate.” You want to whisper a thousand <i>I love you’s</i> into his mouth, to shout it from the rooftops, but when his hands close over your cheeks like they did the first time he ever kissed you, you just let yourself be suspended in his spectacular silence. “Ni kar’tayl su,” he whispers, “Novalise.” He says the word, and it sounds like your name or a prayer or a declaration of love, and the truth of it explodes like a star in the meeting of your mouths. From Din, it feels like coming home.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I HOPE YOU LOVED IT!!!!! </p><p>i've been wondering for the entirety of the fic if i should make our narrator/reader/cyar'ika into more of her own character because she's grown so much farther than most self-inserts and has her fully fleshed out backstory. i did NOT make this choice lightly, to have her be a little bit more established with her name of Novalise, because i wanted it to feel authentic and organic to the rest of the story i've written and the rest of the story i have left to write. i'm absolutely going to be finishing Something More in the second person POV style!!!! she won't completely stop being a self insert!!! but somewhere along the way, i fell in love with her and want her to have as much of her full story as Din has his. after SM is over (we still have SO MUCH LEFT I PROMISE!!!) i want to write about Novalise and her story (and her relationship with Din) and i want more than anything to keep sharing her with all of you. i completely understand if you're not super into the way her narrative has been shaping and that she's basically taken on the life of an OC, and, like i said, it'll absolutely be following in this style, Din will keep calling her cyar'ika, you can still be her as much as you want to!!!!!!!! sometimes, the story writes itself and i just follow, and this is one of those moments. i know this might not be everyone's cup of tea, and i promise i'll keep the storytelling and her characterization as it's been so far!! i hope that this is okay with you all and i cannot wait to keep sharing SM and whatever comes next with all of you!!!!!</p><p>CHAPTER 17 WILL (probably) BE UP AT THE USUAL TIME, 7:30 PM EST ON SATURDAY, APRIL 10TH!!!! i have a busy week but it should be up as planned ;)</p><p>LOVE Y'ALL SO MUCH!!!!!!!!!</p><p>xoxo, amelie</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. It Always Will Be</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Nova,” he says, and you hum against the weight of your name falling from his lips, “cyar’ika, it’s only ever been you. It only ever could be you.” </p>
<p>You barely have time to take in a shuddering breath. “Din—” </p>
<p>“Close your eyes.”</p>
<p>You, for the first time in your life, don’t want to. You want to stay right here in that moment with him, to have him holding you, his fingers knotted in your hair, to try and convince him that you’re still afraid that you’re a flight risk, that you’re terrified to be a liability, that you aren’t sure if you can keep saving him, that you don’t know how to stop the next person who tries to pry off his mask—</p>
<p>And then he starts tugging the helmet off himself.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>HELLO happy Saturday!! this chapter doesn't feel as huge as the last three, but it feels monumental in a different way (you'll see when you read hehe). CHAPTER 17 IS DEDICATED TO MY LOVELY FRIEND LEXY!!!! she's the co-owner of a shop called Melrose Beads, where they make the most gorgeous beaded chokers, and you can get them customized (i'm getting a cyar'ika one and i cannot wait to show it off and wear it constantly). go check their shop out!!!! https://www.instagram.com/melrosebeads/?hl=en | https://www.etsy.com/shop/MelroseBeadsCo?ref=search_shop_redirect.</p>
<p>hope you love chapter 17!! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You’ve always known you belonged in the stars. Your mother went into labor on a mission, with only your father and the nurse droid aboard to deliver you, and you’ve spent the rest of your life trying to get back up here. When you were still a fighter pilot, all you wanted was to fly. Beating the Empire, that was always the mission, and it became a lifeforce you hung onto because the rest of the people around you were sustained by that alone, but even when you wore the title of rebel, all you wanted was to be up here in space, marveling at the galaxy around you. Getting to take down the Empire was a bonus—a very big one—but first and foremost, this was always what you were trying to get to.</p>
<p>Din’s sitting in front of you, an arm’s reach away, a reflective, shiny beacon. As you coast away from Nevarro’s surface, you watch him, necklace between your fingers, light up with the warp of space. After your confessions underground, the two of you stayed there, holding each other, until you remembered something about how Karga was only supposed to watch the baby for an hour, and, reluctantly, you let Din lead you up and out of the place he used to call home. </p>
<p>“Will you take me back here one day?” you had asked, as the two of you emerged from the staircase, blinking up at the great collection of stars above you. </p>
<p>“Nevarro?” Din moved quietly, lacing his gloved fingers in yours, “or down there?”</p>
<p>“Both,” you whispered, following him back to the lights of the inner city, trying to match his giant stride. “I liked seeing your home.”</p>
<p>“That’s not my home anymore,” Din had murmured, voice seeping out of the modulator in the shape of electricity, fissuring and crackling all the way down to your heart. “You know that, cyar’ika.”</p>
<p>You did know it. Now, sitting crosslegged in the copilot’s chair, eyes shining and fixated on the reflective man in front of you, it seems like it was an entire lifetime ago when you thought Din didn’t want you there, didn’t think of you as anything more than a glorified babysitter. You felt it—that great, pulling cosmic connection—the second you stepped into his path, but it seemed to swell up inside him, only burst over when he thought you ran. </p>
<p>As if you’d ever run again. As if you could ever tear yourself away.</p>
<p>The baby babbles next to you, and you tilt your head to look at him, lifting a gentle finger to smooth out the skin between his big eyes, watching as they relax. When you and Din had gotten back to the cantina that the Guild operated out of, still reeling from your revelations, the baby had devoured at least ten kebob sticks, mouth still dirty around the edges. Din, exhausted, tried arguing with Karga about how it was too much, how the baby is so impossibly tiny, how he can’t just devour enough meat to make up his body mass, Karga turned to Cara, who raised one mischievous eyebrow. “Growing boy,” she said, crossing one of her muscular legs over the other, “he needs his food.” </p>
<p>Din had turned to you, and you picked the little gremlin up into the sky, snuggling him against your chest, where he immediately lay his head against. “Hard to argue,” you chanced, winking at the visor, “with him needing his food.” </p>
<p>Din sighed. You smirked. When the three of you left, you could feel the smile lingering on your face, stretching at the corners of your mouth. By the time you were both back on the Crest and the baby settled in his cradle, Din backed you into a corner, swallowed your face in his bare hands, and kissed you. Long, impassioned—but not desperate. His lips felt secure. They felt like they did when he said your name, your true name—home. </p>
<p>Every second that passes, you think it’s impossible to love him more. And then you do. It’s the size of Nevarro. It’s the size of the Outer Rim, you think, because it’s radiating out of you for lightyears. </p>
<p>“What are you looking at?”</p>
<p>You shake out of your loving reverie. Din’s helmet is still facing forward, but you can feel the way that his smile sits on his mouth. </p>
<p>“The stars,” you sigh, bringing one knee in close to your chest. “And my big, brave, bounty hunter boyfriend that’s reflecting them.”</p>
<p>A chuckle—a real one, rich and free—rumbles out of the modulator. “When are you going to stop with that?” he asks, and even though you know it’s a joke, you can feel the heat rush to your cheeks. You’re about to give him something flippant, and then he adds, “Her Highness Rebel Rouser Pilotess of the Outer Rim.”</p>
<p>You swallow. The joke gets lodged in your throat, and the easy way he’s joking with you—the way he remembers <i>everything</i>—your love for him might just expand far enough into the Mid Rim, too, all the way to Trandosha. “Until you make me something more than your girlfriend,” you whisper, “and I can tack my new last name onto that title.” </p>
<p>Din’s quiet, but he shifts in his seat. The panic that usually floods into your chest, the fear that you’ve toed the line a little too far—it dissipates when he turns around and faces you. You look at him, the space he takes up behind the helm, how much metal his body’s covered in—you know he’s intimidating. You’ve seen him in action. You know how easy it is for him to zero on anything, how he makes the rules in any situation he’s put in. But you look at him, after you’ve been mouthing off, and you don’t see the Mandalorian. </p>
<p>You just see Din. And Din knows you. Din might even <i>love</i> you. You’re pretty sure, for him, even without it being in Mando’a, the words mean the same thing.</p>
<p>“Well then,” he chances, and you feel that same smile filling up your face again, “guess I’d better get around to that soon.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, you better,” you echo, and before he turns back around, his gloved hand ghosts over your knee, finger tracing the rip in your pants. Your heart jumps at the feeling of his touch, the way he lifts the ridge of the rip, gliding along your skin with a warmth you didn’t think gloved hands could have. You don’t know how it’s possible, to still be this thrilled with his touch, but it lives inside you, electricity he’s always started within your chest, in the pit of your stomach, everywhere. Din doesn’t say anything, but you’d bet anything he’s grinning under the helmet. You let a few minutes pass, staring out at the stars as the Crest coasts through space. “Where are we headed?” you ask, softly. The baby rouses again in his cradle and fusses until you pull him into your lap, little hand curled around one of your fingers. </p>
<p>“Akiva.” </p>
<p>You squint, trying to calculate its geography in relation to Nevarro, then to Yavin. You’ve grown up in its periphery, but you’ve never been on the planet itself. </p>
<p>“How many pucks do you have this time?” you ask, watching as the Crest expertly glides through a small asteroid field. The control Din has over this giant, metal rebellious teenager is astounding. <br/>“Four again?”</p>
<p>“Five,” Din says, and your eyebrows raise. “I didn’t think Karga would ever let me carry more than four at a time. That was a…” he trails off, punching something into the dashboard, “point of contention before.” </p>
<p>“I thought you were the best in the Guild,” you tease, and Din swings back around, pointing the finger of the hand he just touched you with at you. </p>
<p>“I am, cyar’ika,” he insists, and you just bite back your grin, “I just go rogue sometimes.”</p>
<p>“Rogue.”</p>
<p>“Rogue,” Din repeats. “Before you, I had a bad habit of killing the bounty before I could collect the money. I wasn’t very patient back then.” </p>
<p>You look at him. You aren’t trying to be affected by it, but in such close succession with your jokes, the cavalier tone about killing…it gets to you. Even when you’ve done it, it’s been self-defense. You know if you hadn’t killed Jacterr on Coruscant, he would have left you within an inch of your life, and you would have had to die painfully and alone. When you took out the few actual human beings when you flew the X-Wing, that was easier to justify. You played offense, not defense. You made sure you stayed in the right squadrons for the years you were out fighting back, because killing had always been a barrier that you hated crossing. Even when you shot the TIE fighters back when you were trying to escape from Balnab, even when you knew that you were protecting your family, it sat in your stomach like a rock. You can feel the deaths that you’ve contributed to weigh you down heavier as the numbers rise. </p>
<p>“Cyar’ika,” Din says, softly, and you blink away your dead stare out the Crest’s front window, eyes focusing on the visor. You can feel his eyes—his brown eyes—reflecting back through you, and you swallow. “I didn’t—I don’t take any pleasure in it.”</p>
<p>“I know,” you whisper. “I also know you’re a warrior…that fighting, killing—it—it’s part of the Mandalorian way. I’m not trying to…I don’t want you to hide that from me,” you say, finally, untangling your words from the back of your throat. “It’s just not ever something I think I can get over.”</p>
<p>“Every time you’ve killed someone,” Din starts, and you close your eyes, “you’ve done it to protect yourself or someone else. That’s not murder. That’s self-defense.” </p>
<p>“I know,” you repeat, and then his hand is on your knee again. “And I won’t stop defending myself, or you, or the baby,” you say, “but I don’t think I’ll ever like it.” </p>
<p>Din’s quiet, his finger finding the hole in your pants. “You don’t have to,” he answers, finally. “Like it. It’s what makes you good,” his voice is barely there, “Novalise.” </p>
<p>You blink back tears, sob wrenched around the way he says your name. “Yeah?”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Din echoes. You’re silent, just smiling at him, when something on the dashboard starts bleeping. He sighs nosily, turning around in the chair. “The bounty’s moving. We need to go.” </p>
<p>“Okay,” you whisper, and the Crest shoots forward into warp, just for a few minutes, and when you pull out, the jungle climate of Akiva is glinting green in front of you. You sigh, trying your best to be quiet, but you’ve gotten real sick of humid, green planets. After weeks on Trandosha and Toydaria, you’ve gotten your fill of that kind of atmosphere, the way it sticks in your mouth, sacrosanct and heavy. “Is it dangerous?” you ask, quiet, as the Crest breaches through onto the planet. </p>
<p>“Yes,” Din says, lowly, “but nothing we can’t handle.”</p>
<p>You nod against the baby’s head, cuddling him in closer to you. “Will you be gone long?”</p>
<p>Din sighs, all air, and then turns around to you. “This place is crawling with the Empire’s leftovers. I’ve had a few unfortunate run-ins with people who keep close tabs here, so I might need the stealth of night and play a longer game.” </p>
<p>“Okay,” you say, trying not to let the sinking feeling in your chest leak into your words. “Keep your comm on, big brave bounty hunter.”</p>
<p>“I’m counting how many times you say that,” Din says, and pulls you and the baby to stand in front of him. </p>
<p>“What are you going to do to me?” you volley back, following his entire armored form down the ladder. “Besides counting them?” Din grabs at your hips to pull you into him as you land, and as you stumble back against the wall and his arms find either side of your torso, pinning you up, you’re very glad you had the foresight to place the baby back in his cradle. You gasp as Din holds you there, deadly quiet, helmet cocking back and forth to take you in. </p>
<p>“You better watch out, cyar’ika,” Din whispers, one of his hands dragging up your arm to anchor gently around your throat, “or you might just become someone I hunt down yourself.”</p>
<p>You moan as his hand tightens, just for a second, and then, as quickly as he was there, he disappears, and you whine into the darkness of the hull, eyebrows furrowing together as the gangplank lowers. “Is that supposed to scare me?” you manage, but your voice is breathy and distorted, heat pulsing between your legs.</p>
<p>“Nope,” Din says, and you watch as he steps off the ship, heart already aching in your chest for when he’s gone from your sight at all, “it’s supposed to thrill you.”</p>
<p>You can’t help it. He’s throwing that in your face, sure, but he’s right. It does thrill you. “Be careful,” you call after him, and the comm blinking on your wrist is what relays Din’s answer back to you. </p>
<p>“Always am,” he says, and you sink to the ground of the Crest, still buzzing, still floored. You smile off into the dark for full minutes, still basking in the warmth Din gives you, even in his absence. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>You love the baby. So much. You’d give up your life in a second if it meant that he’d be safe. But he’s crying, and he’s been crying for hours, and Din isn’t answering his comm, and you’re huddled up on the Crest’s floor, trying—and failing, massively—to soothe him. You sing him every song in your repertoire. You rub his tummy, his back, when you think maybe the ten kebobs he devoured on Nevarro did this to him. He basically ate his entire body weight. But he just keeps crying, no matter how hard you try.</p>
<p>“Baby,” you say, voice coming out weak and exhausted, “what do you want?”</p>
<p>He sobs. You run your finger over the ridge of his ears, trying to dull the noise he’s emitting. You’re starting to get a headache. Din had restocked the bacta and the food when you were back on Nevarro, and you’re not sure how to dose it properly for the baby, but you’re starting to think that maybe he’s in pain, and that’s why he’s wailing so much. You could just give him a tiny shot of it, you think, just a little, enough to help him calm down, when a lightbulb goes off in the back of your mind. </p>
<p>“Hey, bug,” you say, gently, “you remember when I told you before to go down and help your dad?”</p>
<p>His tear-filled eyes blink up at you. </p>
<p>“I’m going to try to do the same thing now, okay?” you ask, touching the pad of your thumb to the tiny apple of his cheek. “Can you listen?”</p>
<p>He’s still staring at you, so you exhale, holding him gingerly, trying to soothe him without upsetting anything else. You didn’t know what you were doing. You don’t even know if the baby really heard you back in warp, back when you sent him to check on Din, or if it was just a coincidence. Except you don’t really believe in coincidences, and you could feel it tugging in your chest, something surefire and steady. You exhale, shaky, trying to channel that sense of utter calmness that kept you level back there. It’s rusty. You’re not good at clearing your mind. There’s far too much rattling around there, all the stardust, all the overthinking. But the baby clenches his three-fingered fist over your thumb, and it stabilizes you. </p>
<p><i>Hi bug</i>, you repeat, internally, <i>can you tell me what’s wrong?</i></p>
<p>You don’t know what you’re expecting. The closest thing the baby has said are a collection of tiny noises, and you’re pretty sure they weren’t even in Basic. You don’t think you’re going to hear something echoing and fully formed deep in your mind, but you’re expecting something. After a few minutes with your eyes closed, you sigh and wink one open. Just as you’re about to give up, something in the baby’s face relaxes, his big eyes fluttering closed.</p>
<p>You follow suit, trying to be patient, battering back every dancing thought in your head to just focus on the baby, his energy, and what he’s trying to tell you. And then, somehow, you feel it materialize. It’s not words. It’s feelings, like the way that he shows you things in his visions, projects them to you through clouds. You gasp against the knowledge of something you can’t see, can’t picture. And then, slowly, it begins to crystallize. You can feel that he misses Din, the same sort of sucking wound in the left side of his chest that matches yours. You’re pretty sure he overate, and his stomach is hurting, because something is warbling in a similar shape to that frequency. You try to just stay in the liminal space for long enough to scry past what he’s giving you, attempting to give him the best chance you can at communicating what’s wrong. Then, sort of all at once, something coalesces. </p>
<p>It’s his vision. It has fragments of the ones you’ve seen before, the terrifying display of being yanked away from him you got in the cave on Dagobah, but this time you’re not on the ground. It’s like you’re seeing it through the baby’s eyes, and you can’t see yourself. It’s unsettling. It rises like bile in the back of your throat. Before you can pull the both of you out of it, before you can try to reach him, it shifts to something sterile and dark. It looks like a holding cell. There’s tiny handcuffs keeping the baby at bay, and you can feel the hulking shape of something behind you. You turn, and there’s Din, and then it’s not. There’s a blade that pulses in the figure’s hand, crackling black electricity like lightning. When you try to dive toward the baby, the vision changes, and you see robes. Your breath hitches in your throat, trying to squint enough to see the figure in front of you, but something guttural and innate tells you it’s not the same person you’ve seen before. The shape of them is different, and when the lightsaber ignites, the blade is green. You gasp, falling out of the vision, the baby’s tiny hand still entwined with yours, and when you hurtle back to the present, you realize you know what he’s trying to tell you. </p>
<p>He isn’t sad. He isn’t in pain. He’s <i>scared</i>. And this, all of it—it feels like a premonition. It’s enough of a repeated pattern not to be, and you really don’t believe in coincidences. You tighten your grip on him, bringing his little body in close to your chest, trying to shield his ears from where your heart is hammering in between your ribs, sheltering him from the fear of what you now know is probably going to come next. </p>
<p>“It’s okay, baby,” you reassure him, even when your own voice is shaking, “it’s okay, it’s okay—” Your comm is screaming at you, and you adjust hands so you can lift the wrist up to your mouth, trying to clear your head. “Din?”</p>
<p>“I’m here,” he says, and Maker, those two words do more to calm you down than a shot of bacta ever could. You sigh, letting the baby slide down to sit in the tangle of your crossed, legs, rubbing a and gently over the top of his head. “What’s wrong?”</p>
<p>“Nothing,” you lie, making eye contact with the kid, trying to pretend you’re more confident about it than you are. “I called a bunch of times. The baby kept crying. I—I think he’s okay now, though,” you add, watching as those giant, sentient eyes blink up at you. “How’s the terrain out there?”</p>
<p>“I hate it here,” Din says, darkly, his voice complicated through the modulator. “I always feel like something’s watching me. I’m used to having my guard up, but it’s like being boxed into a corner.”</p>
<p>You swallow. “How dangerous did you say it was again?”</p>
<p>“The planet itself is fine,” Din mutters, “not my taste, too much sand. But you can feel the energy of the people who live here. It keys me up.” </p>
<p>You let the baby grab onto your finger again, mustering up a smile from your exhausted depths. “Bad history here?”</p>
<p>“Confederacy planet,” Din counters. “Empire sympathizers. Empire enthusiasts, really.”</p>
<p>The Crest is so silent when he’s gone. The baby’s quiet mutterings have been absent, too, so the noise of nothing presses in around your ears. “Have you ever been contracted to help the people in the shadows of the Empire?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” he answers, immediate. His tone is monotonous, dangerous. “The kid was the last bounty I ever brought in for them. They wanted to experiment on him, lock him up. Extract something from his blood. I walked away and something pulled me back.” He pauses. “I have a moral code, cyar’ika.”</p>
<p>“I know you do,” you interrupt. “I wasn’t accusing you. I was just…curious.”</p>
<p>“I know,” he echoes. He sighs, deep and heavy. “I hate this place.”</p>
<p>“What else about it?”</p>
<p>“Droid factory,” Din volleys back, and it’s so opposite to anything you could have imagined him saying that it startles a laugh out of you. “It’s not funny. I hate droids.”</p>
<p>“No droids,” you reassure him, trying to suppress a giggle. “I’m not making fun of you—it’s just, you say that this planet skeeves you out, and you tell me it’s because of how residual the Empire’s presence is here, and then you say that the droid factory is just as bad.”</p>
<p>“It’s not just as bad,” Din argues. </p>
<p>“Oh yeah?” you ask, helping the baby climb up on your left knee, feeling the softness of his tiny hand press against your skin in the middle of your pants. </p>
<p>“It’s worse,” Din deadpans, and, Maker above, you literally cannot tell if he’s joking. “I’m serious. At least I can kill the Empire scum and know they won’t be walking out of battle. Droids? Droids have a nasty habit of walking away short circuited, able to be fixed.” </p>
<p>“You know,” you allow, taking stock of your lower half, realizing just how shot to hell all of your clothes are, “you have a solid point.” </p>
<p>He doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t have to. You can feel that he’s satisfied. </p>
<p>“Hey, Din?” you ask, breaking the comfortable silence, “can we maybe stop on a planet that has…I don’t know, stores? All of my clothes are falling apart.”</p>
<p>“I like you out of them,” he drawls, and you roll your eyes all while you feel butterflies in your stomach. </p>
<p>“If I don’t get new clothes,” you counter, “I can’t leave the ship, and that means you can’t leave the ship.”</p>
<p>“What if that’s my plan?” Din asks, and you can hear the smile in his voice. </p>
<p>“Your big plan is keeping me naked here, trapped like a bounty?” you ask, in disbelief, not even realizing the implication of the sentence before it’s out of your mouth. The heat races to your cheeks, makes you flush. </p>
<p>“It would make you very special,” Din says, voice low and dark. You want to jump his bones. You keep your gaze on the baby, trying to use his gorgeous little green face the only thing in your mind. “I don’t fuck my bounties.” </p>
<p>“Never?”</p>
<p>“Never. Unless it’s you.” </p>
<p>You sigh, pressing your hand against the floor to try and cool it off. “Speaking of fucking the bounties,” you whisper, trying to not move your mouth at all, “call off the search for whatever Empire gutter rat you’re hunting to come back to me.” </p>
<p>“You’re a Rebel,” Din teases, “I think letting Empire scum live freely goes against your whole…thing.” </p>
<p>“I don’t have a creed,” you argue, “My way is you.” You can hear the intake of his breath through the comm, and you stiffen, heart hammering. “I didn’t—” you start, “I’m sorry, I know that the Mandalorian Creed is important to you, I’m not tr—trying to make fun, I swear—”</p>
<p>“Relax,” he says, and the rasp in his voice settles your stomach. “I’d drop it all for you.”</p>
<p>Your heart soars. Something in you is rushing, loud, like you feel the impact of his words before they register. Did he just—insinuate, again, that he would abandon the Way, everything his life had revolved around since he was a kid…for you?</p>
<p>“Din,” you start, and your voice comes out in a yelp. “I—” </p>
<p>“Gotta go,” he says, quiet, and he lets out another exhale before the line cuts. You stay there, in the dark of the ship, hoping the baby can’t hear how hard you’re breathing, restless and frenzied with the knowledge that you give a Mandalorian—your Mandalorian—something more than his lifelong Creed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>You know the hard and fast rule of being on planets like this is that you shouldn’t leave the ship. You and humid, green planets never bode well. Unless it’s Yavin. But Akiva seems to trend in the same direction that Trandosha did, and Toydaria, and Dagobah, so it might not be worth the effort. You don’t want to leave the baby, but you’re thirsty, and he’s sleeping, and the Crest’s configured to both of your heat signatures, and you have a feeling that the kid will sleep for hours anyways, and you’re thirsty.</p>
<p>Din had resupplied most things on Nevarro—the soap bars that smell like him, one for your hair, food, rations, bacta, bandages, all the odds and ends that belong on the vehicle of the galaxy’s most notorious bounty hunter—but he forgot <i>water</i>. You’ve made do with the tap in the refresher, even though it always runs metallic, but after the vision the baby pulled you through earlier, you’re keyed up. Shaky. And every second that passes means that Din’s closer to being back, so you really shouldn’t leave, but you feel dehydrated, and you’ll have your blaster, and you won’t have the baby’s target on your back, so…</p>
<p>You look back and forth, debating. And then, right when you’re about to make a break for it, the airlocks hiss off and you gasp, hand finding your blaster, pushing the baby in his cradle into the alcove where Din’s bed used to be before you huddled up together on the floor, and you’re pointing your blaster against Mandalorian armor. </p>
<p>“Maker <i>above</i>,” you hiss, “I was about to—why are you back? And bounty-less? Why are you back and bounty-less?”</p>
<p>“He ran,” Din sighs, voice ugly and dark, and you have to stand there for a second before he registers it’s you, and he folds himself into your arms. “Got ugly.”</p>
<p>“Did you get hit again?” you ask, running your fingers over all the open spaces in his armor, searching for bullets. </p>
<p>“No,” he says, gruff and distant. You slowly rise up to look at him. There’s something guarded about his energy. You don’t know what it is, what’s off, so you stand back a little, just looking earnestly up at the visor. “I—I was sloppy. People got caught in the crossfire, and that wasn’t my intention.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” you sigh, deflating a little. “Din, I know that we talked about me not liking killing before you left, but—this is a dangerous job, and I know you don’t get excited about it, and sometimes you’re going to have to shoot people, I understand—” </p>
<p>“I didn’t kill anyone,” he says. Maker, he’s so far away from your right now. His whole body is rigid and stiff, danger radiating in spikes off of him. You want to step back again, but something in the way he’s standing, taut and simmering, makes you hold your ground. “I—we need to get out of here.”</p>
<p>“Oh—” you start, stepping to the side before he barrels you over, trying to get up the ladder, “—kay, okay, that’s—” </p>
<p>You haven’t seen him like this in <i>ages</i>. Like, since he captured Xi’an, white-hot and dangerous. It’s like it’s not even Din inside the armor, it’s some animatronic, grizzled version of him. Tears collect in the corners of your eyes before you have a chance to process his coldness, such a stark contrast to the warmth that enveloped him earlier. You swallow, slowly climbing the ladder as Din punches in some coordinates you don’t recognize, trying to move as silently to the copilot seat as you can, when the ship accelerates through the atmosphere, and you cry out, landing with a thud against the floor. </p>
<p>“Hey,” Din whispers, and you hear something rattling to life inside his voice, “hey, cyar’ika—I’m sorry,” he says. He moves lightning-quick to pick you up, and you squeeze your left eye shut to dull the aching behind it from the way you fell, whiplashed and shook loose. “I’m so sorry,” he repeats, and the recognition of his gentleness and his apology bring you back to the present. “I didn’t—” </p>
<p>“It’s okay,” you say, earnest, hand on his arm, fingers catching a sliver of his skin. The touch of you against him seems to let all the anger out, and he pulls you up next to him. “I only landed hard on my knee, my neck just—snapped as I was falling. Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” you ask, eyebrows furrowed, looking up through the visor. You’re trying so hard to make contact with his eyes through the opaque glass, and it takes him a second. </p>
<p>“Something happened down there,” he says, lowly, and you nod imperceptibly, trying to coax him to continue. “I almost had the bounty, but—he was with someone else.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” you encourage. </p>
<p>“I have no idea how—” Din says, and you can hear him swallow through the modulator, “she escaped—” </p>
<p>And then, everything suddenly makes sense. You haven’t seen him like this since Xi’an, since Jakku, because she was locked up in carbonite you froze her in months ago. And now, somehow, she’s not in there anymore. You can feel how you’re trying to gulp in air, because Din lifts a hand to your face, pressing his grip into you. “We’ll get her,” you promise, clinging to the arm of the hand resting against your cheek. “We’ll follow them, we’ll bring her in, okay?”</p>
<p>Din sighs, visor completely still. You reach up to stroke his face before you remember he’s wearing his helmet, and your arm freezes in midair. After a second, just a beat, he leans into your grip anyways, and you exhale, feeling his life come back into him. “I have no idea how she escaped,” he says, and his voice is still thick and dark. “Every time I think I have her in my grip, she just…gets out from under it.” </p>
<p>“We’ll get her,” you repeat, and you look at where the ship is coasting towards. “Where’d they go? What planet?”</p>
<p>Din sighs, all noise, and you look back at him, bottom lip tucked under your teeth, eyebrows furrowed. He seems beaten down. Broken. It’s such a stark contrast, the silence surrounding him is so loud. You don’t know what the next move is, so you just pull him up against you the best you can with your bodies awkwardly frozen together, hand finding the exposed skin on his arm again to stroke. </p>
<p>“Cyar’ika,” he says, finally, and you lean into his shoulder, the smell of him, clean and metal and gunsmoke and cinnamon. “You’re not going to like it.” </p>
<p>You throw your head back, overdramatic, trying to coax a laugh out of him. “Oh, Maker, is it Toydaria again? How dare you bring me back to that green wasteland,” you tease, lifting your hand in a fake faint. “No? Back to Trandosha? Let me guess, maybe it’s Naboo except I can’t leave the ship this time?”</p>
<p>He exhales, low and quiet, and something about it makes the smile fade off your face. “I’m sorry,” Din apologizes, and it’s the third time you’ve hear him use those words today, and every single shred of life leaves your mouth. You blink, swallowing. </p>
<p>“No,” you whimper, and he pulls you in closer, “please tell me we aren’t—” </p>
<p>“It’s Coruscant,” Din says, ripping the gloves off his hands and pressing both bare palms up against your face. You sink into the weight of it, letting him hold you there, completely suspended by him and him alone. Your eyes are closed, and you inhale and exhale three whole times until you can take a normal breath. “You don’t have to leave the Crest. I’ll kill her. I’ll kill her, and we can leave, okay, Nova—”</p>
<p>“No,” you echo, but this time, it’s more solid, more of a fortification. “No, you capture her. You bring her back to Nevarro, and you slam her in prison for the rest of your life. I’ll help,” you offer, “but she deserved to be tried for what she’s done.” </p>
<p>Din’s thumb strokes across your cheek. “You don’t even know what she’s done,” he whispers, and something about the tone of his voice, even quiet, even modulated, makes the anger thorn in your side again. </p>
<p>“I know enough,” you say, resolute. “It’s okay. Coruscant. It’s not my favorite place—well, okay, it’s probably my least favorite place in the galaxy—but I signed up for this. I…this is your job, Din, and she’s more than a bounty. She’s someone who hurt you.” You swallow. “I’d go back to that forsaken planet every day if it meant you got to be free of her.” You can feel it. He’s looking right into your eyes from under the mask. “I don’t scare easy, remember?”</p>
<p>He’s quiet, but his silence is much more measured, complete, than it was a few minutes ago. When the Crest pops out of warp, when you see Coruscant’s surface gleam on the horizon, you close your eyes against the impact of it. Din’s still hanging onto your cheeks, your whole face practically devoured by the breadth of them. “I’ll be quick,” he promises, and you nod. “Close your eyes.” You do. When you hear the hiss of the helmet disengaging, you let yourself be held there, completely sustained by his grip alone. He presses his lips to yours, and it’s like everything vanishes, all the worry, all the fear, all the anger. Your stomach still pulses with it, the knowledge that someone that hurt him so badly is out there somewhere, waiting to wound him again, but for a second, you just let him kiss you, let the rest of it all fade out. </p>
<p>“Wait,” you whisper, the second his lips fade from yours, and you catch just the shadow on his chin as the helmet clicks back into place. You’d waited a few seconds with your eyes still closed, but it was like he wanted to look at you with his own eyes, long enough to risk his face being exposed. Something throbs in your chest, and you swallow, letting Din pull you off the floor. “Do you know where she is?”</p>
<p>“I have the tracker,” Din says, and your gaze drifts from up at his helmet to his waist, where the red beacon is blinking, foreboding and bright. You nod. “I don’t know if she’ll be where the bounty is, but I can get her,” and the way he talks about finding Xi’an is the exact opposite of how he talks about finding you. Hollowed out. Angry. Like she’s prey, and you’re like coming home. You squeeze his hand, gloved and laced in yours. “I—” </p>
<p>“I know,” you whisper, cutting him off. As his grip starts to leave yours, you clench on tight to him, neck strained just a little from trying to look directly into his visor, make eye contact with his beautiful brown ones through the opaque glass. “Din, I—if you need to kill her, you kill her. You don’t need to justify that to me.” Your free hand moves to lift your shirt, showing him the tail end of your scar. He nods, moving his hand to the back of your neck. Before you can even question what he’s doing, why he’s trying to kiss you with the mask still on, he tips his forehead against yours. The beskar warms almost immediately under your touch, and when he pulls away, your breath is still foggy on the glass. You nod, watching him climb down the ladder. When he clicks the airlocks off, you settle back into the pilot’s seat, watching his shine disappear into the glitzy Coruscant buildings, your heart unopened and ruinous in your chest. </p>
<p>You’ve been here enough to know where you are, and for what it’s worth, this is a sector away from where you were dragged with Jacterr. That cantina wasn’t anywhere near where the Crest is parked, and you can’t even see the ruins of the Jedi Temple from this vantage point. If you let your eyes go unfocused and blurry, you can pretend the silver surface of the planet’s traffic are just distant, luminous stars, pretend that you’re not even on Coruscant at all. </p>
<p>The baby makes noises, and you lean down to bring him into your lap, “Hi bug,” you breathe, watching his little ears perk up. “Someday soon, I’m going to get your daddy to take us somewhere big and open, where none of us are in danger and we can just go outside. Like Kashyyyk, but longer.” </p>
<p>He warbles at you, and you giggle as you draw him closer, leaning down to press a kiss against his little green forehead. All you want is to sit here with him and forget where you are, but when his big eyes catch sight of all the shininess of this sector, the way that speeders rush by, exploding shine in their absence, it’s nearly impossible to get him to do anything except sit propped up on the dashboard, transfixed. </p>
<p>“I hate it here,” you murmur, and the baby’s face is peering back at you. You smooth your hand over his head. “I’m sorry. You can keep watching, that’s okay.” He does, but by the way his ears are held, you know he’s still worried about you. You bite down on your lip, watching the traffic. “Hey baby? What’s your name?”</p>
<p>He looks back at you, and you smile, eyebrows raised. “Do you have one? It doesn’t even have to be your real one—how your daddy, Din—he likes to be called Mando by strangers? Or how my name is Novalise, even though that’s…not what my parents named me. Do you have a name, or would you like to be called by one?” </p>
<p>He’s staring at you. You breathe, in and out, trying to empty your mind. Once you’ve stepped into the liminal space he always pulls you into, you find him. You repeat all the questions internally, cleaner and more specific. You can feel him there, his energy, his presence, whatever it is, but you can’t hear his name in your mind, or if he’s trying to give you anything specific. After spending a few minutes in there, trying to rattle around for something real, you gently pull the both of you out of it, smiling down at him. </p>
<p>“It’s okay,” you encourage, letting his tiny fingers curl up around your thumb. “You can take your time, bug.” </p>
<p>He coos at you, and you grin again, letting him watch the shiny things pass by like you do with the stars. You still hate it here. The hatred lives inside you, pulsing and horrible and huge, a giant animal you can’t kill, no matter how hard you try. Knowing that Jacterr is dead, Merle is dead, and the third Calican you never knew existed is also dead, you feel slightly less haunted. Since Din, you’ve slept better, you’ve been at peace in the silence. But Coruscant, both its present and its past, is fucking <i>loud</i>. And without Din here to distract you, with the baby more concerned with the shiny things than anything else, the planet is a whole aria inside your head. </p>
<p><i>Get up</i>, you tell yourself, and finally, you lift the baby fully up on the dashboard and fiddle around with the radio until you can find a station that’s playing something jazzy and cacophonous, settling back in your seat. </p>
<p>When you first started singing, it was a way to pass the time on base when your parents were intermittent. There was always something you knew crooning in the mess hall on the lower level, so you’d walk down there and sit with your warm drinks and whatever food they had, singing low and quiet until the rest of the place emptied out. Then, you’d stand on tables like it was your stage, twirling and dancing and making up your own words to the music if they didn’t fit right enough. It transformed as you grew older, started flying missions on your own. Before you were a fighter pilot, you were a runner, trekking long distances, traveling parsecs. It was mostly messages you were delivering, rarely anything bigger, and rarely with anyone else, just you and the X-Wing and the space around you, all the stars that lit your way. After your parents died and you got a new starfighter, one big enough to bring people places, you would spend the same stretches of time in space, shuttling people from planet to planet, trying to help them reunite and escape, but your rule was always the same: no quiet cockpits allowed. </p>
<p>You wish you could pinpoint the exact minute when that changed, when you realized you could sit on the Crest alone for hours, with nothing but the baby and silence to keep you company, and be satiated with it. You could spend hours being here, alone in the quiet, and not feel haunted by it, not feel like you were drowning. </p>
<p>So much so, in fact, that you barely even notice when Din’s voice filters back through your comm. You startle with the noise of it, and the baby coos at you as you startle out of your reverie, lifting your wrist to your mouth. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry, I’m here, are you okay?”</p>
<p>“If you could only wear one thing forever, what would it be?” Din asks, and you squint into the comm, as if your interrogative gaze would help clarify what he said.</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“One thing. What is it?” </p>
<p>“Um,” you start, cocking your head back against the seat, “I—I don’t know, are you talking about clothes again? Because you’ve tried many ways to get me naked, I don’t know why this has to be one of them.”</p>
<p>“It’s not about that, cyar’ika,” Din says, and he actually sounds incredulous, “I’m serious.”</p>
<p>“Is this because I said that I wanted new clothes?” you ask, letting one leg dangle off the seat. “Because I’d kind of like to pick them out myself, you know—”</p>
<p>“Maker,” Din says, but you can tell his frustration is an act, “just answer.” </p>
<p>“My necklace,” you say, softly, fingers finding the insignia. “It’s…it holds so much, it’s never left my neck. Not since my mother gave it to me.” </p>
<p>“Good,” Din answers, and you can hear an alarm blaring as he walks, “because I would very much like to get you out of your clothes, if you’d let me buy you new ones.” </p>
<p>“That can be arranged.” You smile. “What about you? Oh, wait, why am I asking? Obviously, it’d be the helmet—” </p>
<p>“No,” Din interrupts. “The armor, yeah, forever. But…you’re going to see my face someday, so I can’t wear this thing again.”</p>
<p>You bite your lip, fingers still toying with your necklace. “If you take it off, you can’t ever put it back on?”</p>
<p>“That’s the rule.” </p>
<p>He’s moving. You can hear it in his rustling, the bustle of the noises from the city blaring in at random intervals, and your heart aches. </p>
<p>“Why?”</p>
<p>“This is the Wa—fuck.” </p>
<p>Your fingers drop your necklace. “Din?” Your voice comes up an octave higher than you would have liked, “is everything still—?”</p>
<p>“I gotta go, baby,” he says, and before the line clicks off, you hear someone shouting about a Mandalorian, and your heart jumps in your throat. Before he goes radio silent completely, you hear blaster fire, and something horrible is hammering in your chest. You gently pick the baby up from the dashboard sitting him in his floating egg, punching in numbers and coordinates to try to see where he might be. It’s not that you don’t trust Din to handle himself, it’s the knowledge that Xi’an led him <i>here</i>, of all places, that this very well may be an ambush, and regardless of your status as a Rebel, regardless of the truth you told to Din earlier that Rebels don’t have a Creed, there’s a hard and fast rule every single one of you follows. </p>
<p>Never leave your own. </p>
<p>Your heart thumps, quick and erratic, fingers fumbling over the keys. There’s nothing in here to indicate where he went, and with his comm dead, you’re terrified that he might be stranded out there, in a situation where he might be trapped, with someone who’s made it her life’s fucking mission to make mincemeat out of your glorious, kind, quiet Mandalorian, and despite everything, despite not knowing what to do, adrenaline kicks in. </p>
<p>Muscle memory is a glorious thing when it comes to fight or flight, and luckily for you, your fight <i>is</i> flight. You pull the Crest up and out of the landing bay, cracking your neck. You did this with the TIE fighters, in this old, clunky, gorgeous tin can of the ship you call home. You’ve stared the Empire straight in the face and gave it the middle finger. You don’t scare easy. Even when it comes to this. And even on Coruscant, even while you’re trying to find the man you love in a city of silver grime and glittering danger, you’re not afraid. Because you know how to fly. And that man you love—with your whole, entire, full heart—calibrated the Crest to your heat signatures. You fly across the stream of traffic, coasting low enough through the lanes to get within a few yards of the ground. It isn’t the perfect plan. And you’re trying to do so while you’re out of practice, and you have no idea how to fly something this big in such a public, populated space, and you’re desperately hailing for Din through your comm every few seconds. </p>
<p>He isn’t anywhere. This was a bad idea. A horrible, stupid, foolish idea. How could you possibly expect to find a man outfitted in metal from head to toe on a planet that’s literally made of silver structures, everything shiny and reflective, no matter where you turn. This was stupid, you seethe, wiping desperate tears away from your eyes, pulling up and out of the lane as the traffic curses at you, and you’re about to double back and find the landing bay and just keep trying to get the comm connection to go through, when, somehow, against literally all odds, you see him. </p>
<p>You didn’t register it before. You didn’t even notice. He called you <i>baby</i>—not cyar’ika, not Nova, not sweet thing—something he’s never done before, not once. You see the letters in Basic blinking on and off as they reflect his armor, and you pull the Crest over, landing shakily at a building a few yards over. It’s a nightclub, down a seedy alley in a dangerous sector, and you don’t even care about the familiar shape of the architecture, the fact that Xi’an and the bounty she was working with chose the same area where you had to fight for your life, because you’re so focused on getting to where Din is, being kicked to shreds on the ground. </p>
<p>“Get the <i>fuck</i>,” you scream, voice getting whipped away in the wind, “away from him, you—”</p>
<p>Xi’an lunges forward, her teeth pointed and dangerous, knife in her palm. You grimace up at her as she moves forward. You were anticipating this. You don’t know where the other bounty is, he might be obscured behind her figure, but you pull your blaster out and cock it. </p>
<p>“Getting bolder now, aren’t you, princess?” Her smile is full of venom. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”</p>
<p>“Just in time,” you swallow, clicking the safety off. “Let him go and come quietly, and I won’t shoot you.” </p>
<p>“You won’t shoot me anyways,” she taunts, and you press the barrel of the gun against her purple forehead. “You’re too soft.”</p>
<p>“Yeah? You wanna take that bet?” You crack your neck to the side. “I didn’t before, but I have no problem doing so now.”</p>
<p>“Really?” she asks, and her grin is so poisonous, it makes your stomach twist itself in knots. “Because,” she continues, stepping aside, showing where the bounty went. He’s got Din cuffed, fingers pried underneath the corner of his helmet. Fear ripples through you, so quick it feels like a lightning strike. You want to sob, but your gaze trembles back and forth between where the bounty’s ready to rip his mask off and to where Xi’an is standing, “if you shoot me, my friend here is going to take off your precious bounty hunter’s helmet and show his face to the world.” </p>
<p>“You wouldn’t.”</p>
<p>“I would,” Xi’an taunts, and you look to where Din is, struggling against being bound, trying to wriggle his body out from where the bounty’s fingers are entangled under the helmet, in a perfect position to expose his face to the entire planet. “And then I’d get to tear you to shreds, too. What is it that he calls you, hmm?” You grit your teeth. “You’re his little sweet girl. You’d never let his precious face get exposed.” </p>
<p>“You’re right about one thing,” you say, swallowing, looking down the barrel of the gun, eyes flickering to where the bounty’s standing next to Din, inhaling, exhaling. You have one shot at this, and you need to do it right. “I’d never let someone but him take his helmet off.” You look back at Xi’an, hand tightening around the blaster. “But I have absolutely no obligation to be sweet to you, you carnivorous, wicked bitch.” </p>
<p>You pull the trigger. Xi’an jumps back at the impact, about to swing around to signal the bounty to rip Din’s helmet off, but the bounty is currently indisposed, flailing on the ground, because you just shot a slug through his arm. </p>
<p>Xi’an immediately kicks the gun out of your hands when you try to swing the weight of it around to press against her temple, and you recoil as she pushes you backward. She doesn’t go for the blaster immediately, she waits for you to make a mad dash for it. You don’t see how quick she moves, but she’s grabbing a fistful of your braid, throwing you hard against the ground, and by the time you get up to run to Din, she’s standing there, blaster pointed directly on your forehead. </p>
<p>“I’m turning you in for money, Mando,” she says, her voice awful and gleeful. “You? You I’ll kill. You’re not special, princess. You think you have him? He’ll leave you, he’ll devastate you, break your little shiny heart. I’ve been there. I’m saving you the trouble.”</p>
<p>Your gaze, terrified and darting, oscillates to the gun in your face to the way she’s holding Din, possessively, abusively. You know how bad he’s doing because there’s blood that’s all over his armor, blood that’s seeping in places you know the bounty, still howling on the ground, couldn’t have bled out. He’s in bad shape. Really bad shape. You look at him, eyes filling with tears. “Fine. Kill me.”</p>
<p>“<i>No</i>,” Din cries, and Xian punches a bare spot in his armor, “No, Novalise—No, baby, no.” You look at him, horrified, before you realize what he’s doing. He’s not whimpering, sniveling. He’s smarter than that. You see the visor flash your way, just for a second, but it’s enough. He’s distracting her. You have no weapons, you’re boxed into a corner here, but you’re not letting his face getting exposed, and he’s not letting you get killed. <i>Baby</i>. He keeps calling you baby. You’re sure this probably means something else, but all you can do is think of the little gremlin that is your kid on the ship, and the magic, forceful things he can do with his teeny hands. Din doesn’t even know what he’s asking you to do, but for once, you know the exact right move. You close your eyes, clearing your mind, letting the fear drain out of you backwards. By the time that Xi’an’s attention is back on you, your eyes snap open. And your blaster flies out of her purple, wicked grip, all the way into your outstretched hand. </p>
<p>You have a second. Just a second. But it’s enough. You lunge forward, at the same time that Din heaves his body weight at her legs, and then Xi’an’s on the ground. You look at him, and he nods, imperceptibly, and you take stock of his blood, the way his helmet’s hiked up on his head, a strip of his neck and his dark hair exposed, and when your gaze flicks back to Xi’an, you know what you have to do. When Din killed Merle, he did it because you couldn’t. He sliced his throat, let him bleed out all his evil onto the ground, trying to wash you free of something that wasn’t even your fault in the first place. And you don’t know what happened beyond the pieces Din has given you—having sex with her without having any sort of intimacy, the way he freezes when her name gets brought up, how she grinned when she locked him up to die—but you know how freeing it was when the man you love killed the last part left of the man who abused you. </p>
<p>You know him. Ni kar’tayl su. You look at him, mouthing the words in Mando’a, and he nods. Permission. </p>
<p>“It was never going to be you,” he whispers, and, stars, you think you see fear flash through Xi’an’s eyes as she looks from him to you. He groans, the noise deep and guttural in his throat. “Don’t you understand that?”</p>
<p>“Wait,” she says, but there’s still venom in her voice, and you clench your teeth, steeling yourself. She’s not actually going to pull the trigger.” Her teeth are exposed again, ready to snap at you. You can’t see anything except condescension and violence in her eyes, the way her gaze darts back to Din on the ground, like she likes seeing him wounded.</p>
<p>Din’s visor turns to you, and you stifle a sob, wanting to give the gun to him. You hate death. Your hands are still shaking, you don’t want to be the killing thing, don’t want to have anything else haunting you. But he says your name again, a prayer, a question. You nod back at him, steeling yourself, and when you face Xi’an, she’s laughing at you. </p>
<p>“You can’t do it,” she taunts, “you can’t kill me, you’re too soft, you’re not gonna do it—” </p>
<p>“You’re never going to hurt him again,” you say, and as she lunges forward, trying to pull off Din’s helmet, you fire a shot. Just one. You can’t look at her when you do it, you just drop to your knees, uncuffing Din’s hands from where they’re bound. He lets out a strangled noise as you help pull him to his feet, and when you do, you catch sight of Xi’an’s lifeless, purple body, you gag. </p>
<p>“Cyar’ika,” Din whispers, gently, “hey, look at me. Look at me.” </p>
<p>You do, tears welling in your eyes. “I killed her,” you say in disbelief, watching the blood that pools from her side travel across the pavement. “I—<i>killed</i> her, Din, I—” </p>
<p>“You saved my life. You protected me,” he says, grabbing your face with his gloved hands. “We need to go.”</p>
<p>“I—” </p>
<p>“Nova,” he says, and you let yourself be shouldered under his weight, “police are coming, we need to leave now.” </p>
<p>“The bounty,” you say, voice barely there, looking to where the thug’s laying on the ground, and then you hear the sirens.</p>
<p>“I don’t need to collect him,” Din pleads, and he staggers, and everything keeps rushing back. You killed Xi’an because she was hurting Din. She was going to take his helmet off, expose him to the world. You protected him in the same way he protected you from Merle. You did the hard thing so he could be free. “We have to go, <i>please</i>.” </p>
<p>You nod at him, pulling one armored arm over your shoulders, watching the lights and sirens on the police vehicles advance down the alley. Struggling, the two of you climb back up on the gangplank, and you slam the airlocks shut as you try to climb the ladder, punch in coordinates that aren’t anywhere near here. As the Crest accelerates through multiple lanes of traffic, you advance through Coruscant’s cursed, shiny atmosphere, shooting all three of you back into the stars where you belong. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“This is too much déjà vu for me,” you say, rifling through the bacta patches, trying to find one big enough to cover the newly sliced lacerations in Din’s skin. You make him lay on the floor of the Crest while you pull off his armor, trying to patch all the smaller things before you have to pull out the cautery. “I’ve spent too many days in a row stitching you up in here.” </p>
<p>“This was my fault,” Din mutters, around his wincing. “They’ve all kind of been my fault, but this one especially. Ow.”</p>
<p>“What did they do to you?” you ask, voice rippled and fractured. “What did—how did they get you like that?”</p>
<p>Din grunts around where you’re dressing bandages around his leg, trying to keep clean the gash from the bullet he got as you were escaping from Balnab, still much too fresh to have another one sliced into his skin. “Electricity. They shocked me, used knives on me when I was down.” </p>
<p>“Maker above,” you say, your teeth gritted. “Was—was she…really going to have the bounty take your helmet off if I shot her?”</p>
<p>“Probably,” Din says, and when your bottom lip warbles, “cyar’ika, you did what you had to do—” </p>
<p>“She was just going to expose you?” you interrupt, bitterly. Your head is pounding, every noise in the hull that isn’t Din’s breathing or your own is shrill and unfamiliar. “She—what, she dated you, she got to hold you, and she was just going to fucking—strip everything away from you because she—?”</p>
<p>You’re not even sure what you’re trying to say. Because she lost him? Because she got close enough to maybe love him? Because you’re here, now, and you’re better for him? The words evaporate as your mouth closes, exhaling loudly through both nostrils. You make sure the bandage is tight and clean, and you take a wet cloth to wipe away places the blood has dried, scattered and dangerous over his entire body. </p>
<p>“She doesn’t care about the Creed. She doesn’t care about anything. She—she’s nothing like you,” Din starts, and you shake your head. </p>
<p>“I killed her,” you repeat, the vision of her dead body imprinted every time you close your eyes. “I k-killed someone today.” </p>
<p>He’s quiet, and you wipe the tears away with the heel of your hand, trying to close your mouth before you say something that might make him think that he wasn’t worth saving. “Novalise,” he says, quietly, and when you don’t lift your eyes to meet the visor, he hooks his finger under your chin and pulls it upward. “Yes, Nova, you killed someone today. It wasn’t a murder. It wasn’t in cold blood. It wasn’t because you could. It was because you chose to protect yourself, and…to save me.” </p>
<p>You bite down on your lip. “I’d do it again,” you finally say, eyes blinking furiously. Even wounded, even bleeding and laying up against the wall, Din’s towering over you. His body, his voice—everything about him is a tractor beam, pulling you in closer and closer to the light. “If she tried to hurt you—if she tried to lift your fucking <i>helmet</i>—” </p>
<p>“I know,” Din says, gently. “You don’t have it in you. That impulse. That…greyness.” </p>
<p>“Neither do you,” you plead, but as he draws you in closer, head shaking back and forth, bare hand coasting up the outside of your arm, fingers brushing up the pulse points on your neck, “you—you’re not a murderer, you don’t do it when it’s not—y’know, a necessity—and I’ve never once blamed you for killing someone, never thought twice—why is it so <i>hard</i> for me?” </p>
<p>“Nova,” Din repeats, and you keep talking, trying to muddle your way through it, until his hand is brought up, gently, against your mouth. “When I told you, back on Dantooine, that I wasn’t good enough to touch you, that you were the purest thing in the galaxy, I meant it.” </p>
<p>“But—” </p>
<p>“You’re a Rebel fighter pilot who spent her entire career only taking out droids and shuttling people to their safety,” Din interrupts. “When your parents died, you didn’t lash out. You didn’t retaliate. You left, you kept trying to make the Outer Rim a better place. Right?” </p>
<p>“Yes, but—” </p>
<p>“I’m not finished,” Din whispers, voice gentle. “You’ve protected the kid more times than I can count. You nearly sacrificed yourself out there for both of us, y—” He stops mid sentence, drawing you in even closer. He’s splayed up against the wall, either leg open. You’re still on your knees, crouching next to him, but, with great effort with his injured arm, Din pulls you in closer so you have to crawl into his lap, to straddle him. “You’ve saved me. Without fail, every time, more times than I’ve saved you.” </p>
<p>You just stare at him. It’s dark in here, dark enough to only make out shapes, to hear where his voice is coming from instead of watching his helmet move while he speaks. “That’s not true.”</p>
<p>“It is,” he repeats, and then his hand is tangled in your hair, and he pulls you forward so your mouth is almost pressed flush against the visor. “My sweet, sweet girl.”</p>
<p>“I ran,” you say, closing your eyes against the truth of it. “Every time—I run. I fight back in flying, in evading, but—I ran. When my parents died, I ran. Whenever something dangerous happened, I ran. Even with Jacterr, I didn’t have—the guts to fight him off, to—I ran, then, too, and I nearly got killed for it.” Din’s free hand touches up against where your scar is, finger tracing its contours even through your shirt. “And then, when things—when I thought you didn’t want me, I ran again.”</p>
<p>“You came back,” Din says, fingers curling even tighter in your hair. “And you haven’t run since.”</p>
<p>“I wanted to today,” you admit, through tears. “Waiting for you—I almost took the ship out of the atmosphere, Din—” </p>
<p>“Did you want to run when you found me?”</p>
<p>You blink at him. “What?”</p>
<p>“When you found me, did you see her torturing me and want to run?”</p>
<p>You shake your head, eyebrows furrowed down the middle. “<i>No</i>,” you enunciate, “of course not—”</p>
<p>“You didn’t run,” Din repeats, “from danger, from her. You stayed and you fought. For me.”</p>
<p>“Of course I did,” you say, “I love you, I—I wouldn’t let that happen. No matter what, no—no one is ever going to see your face except for me. And only that when you’re ready. She took so much from y—you, there wasn’t a chance in fresh hell she would get to take that from you.” </p>
<p>“You found me,” Din says, and through the modulator, in such a pressing kind of quiet, you have to strain to make sure that you’re hearing him correctly, “you found me, you protected me, and you didn’t run away.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” you say, stupidly, “of course—”</p>
<p>“Nova,” he says, and you hum against the weight of your name falling from his lips, “cyar’ika, it’s only ever been you. It only ever could be you.” </p>
<p>You barely have time to take in a shuddering breath. “Din—” </p>
<p>“Close your eyes.”</p>
<p>You, for the first time in your life, don’t want to. You want to stay right here in that moment with him, to have him holding you, his fingers knotted in your hair, to try and convince him that you’re still afraid that you’re a flight risk, that you’re terrified to be a liability, that you aren’t sure if you can keep saving him, that you don’t know how to stop the next person who tries to pry off his mask—</p>
<p>And then he starts tugging the helmet off himself.</p>
<p>“No,” you cry, slapping both palms over your eyes, slamming them shut. It’s so dark in the hull that you don’t think you could even see anything, let alone the contours of his face, but you don’t know if you can see it right now, how knowing him, truly knowing him, being the only person Din’s ever trusted enough to see his face. It swells inside you, and as badly as you want to pull his helmet off and look him in his beautiful brown eyes, to stare at him and take in every single aspect of his skin, to piece together the puzzle of his lips and his chin and his hair and his nose and his brown, brown eyes, you don’t want him to feel like he has to because of today. “I don’t need to see it yet, if you’re not ready—” </p>
<p>“Take your hands away,” Din says, and you shake your head vehemently. “Cyar’ika. Novalise. I—I just want to kiss you.”</p>
<p>Embarrassment bubbles up in your belly. “Oh,” you say, discordant, dropping your hands back down to your lap—well, his lap, really, since you’re still straddling him, perched on top of his bare legs. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I thought you were trying to show me your face, especially after today—” </p>
<p>“Nova.”</p>
<p>“Yeah?”</p>
<p>“It’s just you. It always has been. It always will be. So, when you see my face, you’ll know.”</p>
<p>“What will I know?” you whisper, faintly, and Din takes one of his hands to place your palm in his, guiding it up to his bare face. You gasp, immediately placing your other hand on his left cheek, and he’s not flinching. He’s not resisting. He’s letting you hold him up, suspended between both hands, just like he always does to you. </p>
<p>“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum,” he whispers, “<i>forever</i>.”</p>
<p>Your mouth is on his before you realize that Din isn’t just saying he knows you—which he does, inside and out, he does—but this is something more grounded, something more celestial. Something as earnest and concrete as your admission was back on Nevarro, open and willing and vulnerable. You’re his equal. You protect him. You save him. As he kisses you, as your clothes get pulled off of as you grind your hips down onto him, you feel it, reverberating. Din doesn’t just know you. He loves you. And this is how he’s telling you—not through words, but through something that he’s always been the best at—action. </p>
<p>And it means more this way. Something huge and colossal, the size of the galaxy. He kisses you, pulls you down on top of him, letting you touch the skin of his face completely and without fear, and you love him, you love him, you love him. </p>
<p>Everything in you is his. All of it, always, but when he’s kissing you like this, it’s like you supernova out of your body, the death of a million tiny stars sparking up somewhere you can’t name but feel everywhere. feel everywhere. You moan as he pulls you closer, and even though you don’t want to ignore the way he hisses, in and out, when he tries to pull your clothes off, you want to check all the patches to make sure they’re holding strong, the way he absolutely devours you makes everything else fade into obsolescence. His lips roam from yours down your throat, anchoring his fingers in your hair, tangling them deeper and deeper until your whole head is tipped back for him. Din’s tongue is in and out of his mouth, licking lines up the dip in your collarbone, flickering on the pulse point on the side of your neck. You’ve done this more times than you can count—letting him make a shuddering mess of your body—but every time he touches you like this, like he’s fucking ravenous and you’re the only thing in the galaxy that can satiate it, it feels like the first time. </p>
<p>“Closer,” Din grunts, and you don’t know how you could get closer, so you plant both your hands on his shoulders, trying your best to avoid any injury, getting as much leverage as humanly possible, and then you grind down on him. The moan that comes out of his mouth is sinful, loud, completely unfiltered. You haven’t ever heard him let go like this, be turned to rubble and dust by your touch in the same way you are with his. “Fuck, cyar’ika, feel so good—” </p>
<p>“You do,” you whine, angling your hips, trying your best to move back and forth in a rhythm that isn’t as staccato, isn’t as punctuated by the way you’re breathing, “I—you’re hurt, Din, I shouldn’t—” </p>
<p>His hand seizes in your hair again, and you gasp with the sudden jolt of pain from it, but when he moans against your mouth, you don’t even notice. You think he could take your whole scalp off and you wouldn’t notice because you’re so distracted by the way he’s holding you. “I—I don’t care,” he whines, breath fast and hot against yours, and both of your hands find his face again, tracing your fingers under his sharp jawline, ghosting over the stubble he hasn’t shaved down in the last week, trying to memorize the feeling of him in the dark. “You can’t hurt me,” he breathes, and then he bucks his hips up into yours, groaning with the weight of it on top of how sliced up he got, and you break away. </p>
<p>“I’ll ride you. I’ll—I’ll stay on top like this, fuck you back as hard as you want,” you say, hand clenched lightly around his throat in the same way he always does to you when he’s trying to establish his dominance, and the noises he’s making might make <i>you</i> cum right now, but you tighten your grip just enough to distract yourself from the warmth radiating between your legs. “But you—you can’t do anything that’s gonna hurt you.” </p>
<p>“You take care of me,” he moans, mouth buried back in the crook of your mouth, “I—I can’t ever leave the ship again, <i>fuck</i>, it—this is all I want.” </p>
<p>“Then don’t,” you whisper, picking up the rhythm in your hips again. “You don’t fuck your bounties, anyways,” you say, slyly, smile spreading across your lips in the dark, “so you have everything you need right here.” </p>
<p>“Cyar’ika,” Din says, his voice strangled and raw, “take your pants off.”</p>
<p>You want to give him a snappy answer, to let the dominance roll of your tongue in between the possessive, hungry kisses you’re giving him, but with the way that he’s grabbing at the clothes you still have on, you know how desperate he is. It’s that kind of low, animalistic greed, the kind that you felt when he came back from weeks of hunting the quarry back weeks ago, how he touched your skin and every single part of you flared. </p>
<p>Your knees slam into the cold floor of the Crest as you try to pull your pants down, Din’s thumbs hooking in your underwear, ripping them off, too. You aren’t ready for his fingers, how they pulse over your clit, dragging through the wetness you’ve been dripping with since you climbed on top of him, and plunging deep inside you. </p>
<p>“I’m—” you start, halfheartedly banging the heels of your hands against Din’s bare chest, “supposed to be the o—one touching <i>you</i>—” </p>
<p>“The <i>second</i>,” Din hisses, tongue flickering out into the hollow of your ear, “that you sink your pussy down on me, I’m going to cum. So I need to please you now,” he enunciates, curling his middle finger deep inside you, and you let out a shuddering, deep moan, throwing your head back. You’re not even intending to, but you start to buck your own hips up against the fingers he has pulsing inside you, riding it out. “Good girl,” he says, and it’s full to the brim with meaning, and that alone leaves you weak. “My good girl.”</p>
<p>“Keep,” you manage, chest heaving, “t—talking like that.” </p>
<p>“What do you want me to say?” he murmurs, tongue drifting down your neck to the one pulse point that always makes you turn into a fucking puddle, “that you’re the only woman in the galaxy that could bring a Mandalorian to his knees?” </p>
<p>You whimper. “Din—”</p>
<p>“You want me to tell you what dirty things I want to do to you every time you amaze me? Like how when you flew that starfighter and shot me down, I almost came in my fucking pants before I could even touch you?” His fingers curl up in you, and you let out a strangled cry, “h—how wet you get when I’m talking like this, buried deep inside you? How I—I don’t even have to try spice, I know you’re the thing that’ll get me highest?”</p>
<p>“I’m gon—” you start, but he moves his hand to your throat, mirroring how yours is limply against his neck, shoving the fingers that are inside of you as deep as he can, pulsing them up in the way you’ve never even been able to reach, the one space where only Din can touch.</p>
<p>“I don’t want to fuck you speechless,” Din hisses, through the dark, “I want you screaming out my name like the good little girl you are.” </p>
<p>That does it. Your orgasm rips through you, lighting hot, so divine that when your eyes roll back into your head, you don’t just see stars. Everything whites out, blissful and insane, and Din doesn’t pull his fingers out of you until you’ve stopped shaking, legs wobbly, everything in you dizzy and satiated. </p>
<p>You moan, loud, ripping a fucking hole through the hull, and then immediately start fumbling for the clasps on Din’s pants, still panting, so wet you think you’re dripping down either leg. “t—take them <i>off</i>,” you say, barely coherent, and the chuckle you hear in your ear nearly makes you cum again. </p>
<p>“Cyar’ika.”</p>
<p>“Mm?”</p>
<p>Din opens his mouth, you can hear the undoing of it in the darkness, and then he moans around the fingers he just got you off with, licking every single drop off. You moan, and when you slam your hips down, it’s on him. It’s glorious. You just had him like this yesterday, fucking every inch of him in the shower, but it feels like the first time. He’s thick and he’s warm and he’s already pulsing, quivering in the way he does when he’s about to cum, and you choke against the feeling of riding him. </p>
<p>You love it when he fucks you. All you want, always, is to have him pound the living holy hell out of you while you’re defenseless, counting every single star he makes you see, but this? Being the thing that’s getting him there? Having him belong to you in the same way you belong to him, deeply, completely, cosmically—this is all you’ve ever wanted. </p>
<p>“Din,” you say, voice cutting through the darkness.</p>
<p>“M so close,” he grunts, voice breathy and undone, “f—fuck, you’re so warm, you’re so wet, how are you—soaking me even after—?” </p>
<p>“I belong to you,” you manage, and he moans, completely uncontrolled, his hands anchored tight around your hips, slamming you up and down on his cock, and right when you think that you can’t hold on anymore, Din’s lips are back on your neck, right below your ear.</p>
<p>“Nova,” he cries, your name, shiny and new in his mouth, makes you cum as hard as he does. You hold onto each other in the dark, twitching, flailing, trying to keep the other person upright with the weight of it. You don’t want to move, but you know you have to, so slowly, achingly, you peel yourself off of him, dragging the heel of your hand across your lips, breathing still running ragged.</p>
<p>You don’t move until Din’s hand glances across your cheek, and you startle with the weight of it. “I belong to you,” he echoes, and you lean in to kiss him, heart racing, trying your hardest to stay sitting. Eventually, you pull him down with you onto the floor, both of you heaving air back into each other’s lungs. Din’s bare hands find your back, dragging his thumbs up against where all the knots collect on either side of your spine, silent in his expression. For what feels like hours, you lay there, letting him rub out all the tension you both collected on the ground, and before you get too sleepy, you wordlessly pull him into your chest, his head resting right over your heart. You hold him there, as long as you can, ready to fall into a dream.</p>
<p>“You figured it out,” Din whispers. </p>
<p>You’re half asleep, still completely blissed out, feeling as his bare hand still traces lines up and down your back. “Hmm?” you ask, face muffled from where it’s shoved into your pillow. </p>
<p>“About the baby.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” you agree, wholeheartedly, before you realize you’re not sure what he’s talking about. “Wait, what about the baby?”</p>
<p>“I called you baby,” Din repeats, and a lightbulb clicks on in your brain. “To—to use the kid. He’s been able to find me through the Force before.” </p>
<p>“Yes,” you echo, before you realize what he means. You did, indeed, realize that he was attempting to send a signal, some sort of coded message when he first hung up the comm, but that wasn’t what you were thinking of. He wanted the <i>baby</i> to be there. To use the Force. </p>
<p>Because Din doesn’t know that you, despite everything, despite all the odds, have it too. </p>
<p>“How did you get the blaster back?” he murmurs, but it’s into the crook of your neck, voice laden and heavy with sleep. </p>
<p>You swallow, hoping that sleeps takes him before you have to think of an answer, and, after a few seconds, he fades off into slumber, and you breathe a sigh of relief. “I don’t know,” you whisper, as quietly as you can, dragging one of your hands up front of your face, trying to figure out where the energy came from, where it was hiding all this time. Din snores lightly next to you as you follow him, entangled in his arms, into sleep. The thought chases you into your dreams, the way you saved him, and the haunting, squeezing feeling of guilt from keeping it from him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I HOPE Y'ALL LOVED IT!!! again, special shoutout to Lexy at @melrosebeads on tiktok &amp; instagram!! here's her info, all of you better go check out the gorgeous necklaces her and her business partner make!!! i cannot WAIT for mine!! here's their account info: https://www.instagram.com/melrosebeads/?hl=en | https://www.etsy.com/shop/MelroseBeadsCo?ref=search_shop_redirect</p>
<p><b>CHAPTER 18 WILL LIKELY BE UP SATURDAY, APRIL 17TH AT 7:30 PM EST!!!</b> i've already started writing it, but i get my second dose of my covid vaccine on Saturday, so i might be out of commission. as always, i'll update you here, tumblr (amiedala), &amp; tiktok (padmeamydala) if anything will delay the next one being posted!!!</p>
<p>i also just want to thank all of you again for being here!!! my readers have grown almost double in the past two weeks, and it absolutely blows my mind every single day that i get to create Something More for y'all and share in the love every week!!!! (and a HUGE thank you for sticking around when Nova started becoming her own character, because she means so much to me and it is the joy of a lifetime that i get to share her with all of you!!) this started as something for myself for when i was waiting for Rough Day to upload, and the friends i've made with all of you has truly changed my life. the kindness and support has grew so far beyond anything i ever could have dreamed!!!! it is absolutely insane to me that i have even the fraction of the fanbase of the bigger, more established fics. i appreciate and love EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU!!!! thank you so much for being here, seriously, i can't even tell you how much it means!!!</p>
<p>xoxo, amelie</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Soon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“I know why you can’t,” you say, tears threatening at the corners of your eyes again, “and I meant it when I said I’ll follow you anywhere. I’ll—I’ll live on the Crest for the rest of my life, waiting for you. But when you come back, I need it to be more than a blip with you bleeding out on the floor before you have to leave again.” </p>
<p>Din sighs. “I know.” </p>
<p>“You told me you needed me to stop putting myself into danger,” you remind him, voice faint, discordant, “way back on Dagobah. Din, I—I need you to do the same thing.” </p>
<p>He’s quiet. “I can’t,” he says, softly. “Not—not yet, not like this, okay?”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>happy Saturday loves!!!!! this chapter is more angsty than the last, but i promise, you're all gonna love what happens in the next one ;)</p>
<p>chapter 18 is dedicated to my friends Mads, Erica, Kandice, and Mirandi!!!! the four of you have given me (and Din and Nova) so much love, and all of your comments and dedication are literally what keeps me going!!!!! i love y'all and i'm SO lucky to have found you!! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You sleep for what feels like years. You remember waking up once, twice, Din kneeling next to your head, hands smoothing through your hair. Every time, he coaxes you back into rest. You chase it down for as long as you can, trying to outrun the dreams. You see Xi’an’s dead body, the purple lifelessness behind her eyes. You see the baby getting ripped away, blasted into the sky, you see the flashes of Jacterr. They come up and strangle you in your sleep, and when you wake back up, Din’s there to hold you, to push them away. It comes—and eventually goes—in waves, and when you’re awake for good, the baby is the first thing you see. </p>
<p>“Hi bug,” you mumble, half awake, and then you shoot up. “How long did I—?”</p>
<p>“A day,” a low, quiet, modulated voice comes from behind you, and your heart, the glorious winged thing in your chest, nearly flies out of it. “That was impressive.”</p>
<p>“A day?” You echo, incredulous, and Din slides down on the floor beside you. “Hey, be gentle—” </p>
<p>“Relax,” he says, and you roll your eyes at his masochism, until he pulls up his sleeves. He must have put more bacta on before you woke up, because his open wounds from yesterday are healed over and there’s fresh skin webbed over where you could nearly see down to bone. You sigh, throat tight, head pounding. </p>
<p>“I was out for a day?” you ask, and the baby toddles over to you again, and, yawning, you pick him up and put him on your lap. “It’s freezing in here.”</p>
<p>“Ice planet,” Din says, and you squint at him. “not Hoth.” </p>
<p>“Shame,” you toss back, rubbing your eye with the heel of your hand. “I was really looking forward to getting mauled by a wampa.” </p>
<p>“After the few close scrapes we’ve had?” Din says, and you realize that even though his voice is as even as ever, he’s trying to make a joke, “you might be a masochist.” </p>
<p>“On this ship? Only room for one of us,” you volley back, grinning at him, until the events from yesterday filter back in, and your face faces off into the either, smile completely wiped. You swallow, fluttering your eyelids to try and force the air in to keep from crying. </p>
<p>“Nova.”</p>
<p>“Yeah?” you manage, eyes still lost off and unfocused on the wall, trying—and spectacularly failing—to keep the dead stare Xi’an gave you after you shot her off your mind. It doesn’t work. You can see the way her eyes lost the life, drained out of her backwards, bleeding something horrible all over the alley. The color faded from her purple face, her teeth still as exposed and spiked as always, all that vicious, terrible spark just wiped. Because of you. Because you shot her. </p>
<p>“Nova,” Din repeats, and your gaze snaps back to him. “You did what you had to do.” </p>
<p>“I—” you breathe, intake of breath sharp and fleeting in your throat, “for some reason, that doesn’t—help. I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to—” </p>
<p>“Stop,” Din says, hooking one of his gloved hands under your shin, forcing your face up against the shininess of the visor. You look like you’ve been run over, quite honestly, sleep still in the corners of your eyes, hair a mess half out of your braid, mouth dry and cracked. You try to see though the thing, to look into Din’s eyes, but it’s just throwing your own reflection back at you, no matter how hard you try. It feels like a fitting metaphor, seeing yourself in his face, but being unable to pick apart where Din begins and you end. “I—I won’t pretend I know what you’re going through, because as much as I try to not kill when I can help it, I’ve…become neutral to it. I don’t like it. I don’t…dislike it, either. It just feels like a necessity. A means to an end. Part of life.” </p>
<p>“It isn’t for me,” you whisper, pulling one of your knees up close to your chest, like a shield, like something to cling to.</p>
<p>“I know,” Din says, plainly, honestly, “it’s because you’re good.” </p>
<p>“I was a Rebel,” you say, the words too loud, and you chew down on your bottom lip, “I—the people I knew, the others around me, even my parents, they were good. Really good. But…they were always more motivated to stop the Empire than I was. I—I wanted the Empire gone, and I was more than willing to help them eradicate the evil in the galaxy, but…I was a fighter pilot, but they always gave me the missions that had the droids in the TIE fighters, not the humans.” You swallow. “I’m pretty sure my dad paid the colonel off, actually, to make sure that I wouldn’t kill people unless I absolutely had to.” You inhale, exhale, starting to speak a few times before you really find the words. “I—I can count the people I’ve killed on my two hands. Could. Before yesterday, I could.”</p>
<p>Din’s quiet for a second, finger moving from under your chin to tuck a loose lock of hair behind your ear. You smile up at him, trying to make it meet your eyes. You can tell in the visor that it doesn’t, but, regardless, it’s a valiant effort. “How many?”</p>
<p>You take a shuddering breath. “Nine.” </p>
<p>Din cocks his head at you in confusion. “Xi’an only makes ten.”</p>
<p>“The other one,” you whisper, “th—the bounty, I shot him pretty good. I think I hit an artery in his arm, there’s—there’s no way that he walked away from that one.” You swallow. “Right?”</p>
<p>Din’s still quiet, but it’s not the kind where you can usually fill in the blanks, because you have no idea what he’s going to say. “I saw a nurse droid get to him,” he says, “when you ran up to get us out of there, I stayed standing long enough to see that there were medics with the police droids.” </p>
<p>“Are you lying to me?” your voice comes out so small. </p>
<p>“No,” Din says, and he sounds incredulous. “I don’t lie to you.” </p>
<p>You stare at him, pursing your lips up to the side. “Okay.”</p>
<p>“And,” he continues, dragging his big hand down your arm, “you didn’t murder her.”</p>
<p>“Kinda felt like I did,” you say, tipping your head up against the wall. “She—she was taunting me, I got angry—I—”</p>
<p>“You saw the way she was reaching for my helmet,” Din interrupts, and you sigh, frustrated, because his logic is so much sounder than your emotion, but it still aches something awful down in your chest where your moral compass lives, “and you know how badly she’s hurt me.”</p>
<p>The baby coos from where he’s nestled between the two of you, and the noise alone is enough to shake you out of the moment, dipping your hand down to gently rub over the top if his wrinkled green head. “I was protecting you?” you say, but your voice comes out like a question. </p>
<p>“You were protecting me,” Din solidifies, and you blink again, closing your eyes, believing him. “you’re good, Nova.” </p>
<p>And, somehow, that’s enough. Even if it’s just for this one moment, even if it’s just a second of peace, Din still gives that to you, hand herculean on your arm, touch hard and sensitive all at once. You let the smile return to your face, watching your reflection in the visor as Din picks his hand up to stroke through your messy hair again.</p>
<p>You notice the blinking red of the bounty tracker before he does, a crimson interlude against the metal of his thigh. You sigh before you realize how dejected the sound is, and you try to recover by faking a yawn, which translates into a real one, and by the time your hand claps over your mouth, Din catches the light. </p>
<p>“Where are we?” you ask, trying with all your heart not to sound sullen. </p>
<p>“Carlac,” Din says, looking at the fob. “It’s cold.”</p>
<p>You nod. “It’s cold in here. Well, it’s kind of always cold in here, but colder than…normal,” you finish, watching as Din’s gaze is completely occupied by the tracker. “Do you need to go?”</p>
<p>“No,” he says, and then, immediately after, “yes. It’s going to get dark soon, and he’s heading up a mountain ridge. I need to have eyes on him.”</p>
<p>“Go,” you say, nodding, letting Din pull you both to your feet, trying to sound sincere. “I’m okay. I promise. Go.”</p>
<p>His visor stays on you for a second too long, and you nod at him, encouragingly, trying to radiate out the lie that you’re fine, and, finally, he presses on the release of the gangplank, the airlocks hissing. “Stay here.”</p>
<p>“Stay warm,” you volley back, shivering as a gust of wind blows into the Crest, tiny snowflakes sticking against the fabric of your clothes. </p>
<p>“I have you to think about,” Din says, before the gangplank obscures him entirely, and then, through the comm on your wrist, “I could stay warm anywhere.” </p>
<p>You giggle in the darkness, the sound of it discordant and loud. You look down at the baby, who’s staring at you with his big eyes, and, when you pick him up, he cries out, earnest. </p>
<p>“You hungry, bug?” you ask, and his ears perk up. “Did your daddy feed you this morning?”</p>
<p>He shakes his little head, and you know he’s absolutely lying, but you grin down at him and pour a portion of your breakfast into a smaller bowl, enough to tide him over until he’s ravenous for lunch—or, dinner, at this point, and you bring the food upstairs, sitting side by side in the pilot’s chair, looking out at the snow. </p>
<p>“Pretty here,” you say, looking over at the kid. You’ve barely touched your breakfast—regardless of if it’s morning or not, your stomach doesn’t settle until a few hours after you’ve woken up, and you dip his bowl back into the porridge to give him a little extra. “Do you like the snow?”</p>
<p>He looks up at you, and somehow, you know the answer. </p>
<p>“I thought so,” you grin, sucking on your spoon, the taste of cinnamon rolling over your tongue. “I’ve only been in the snow a few times, but I love it too. When I was a kid—not much bigger than you are, actually,” you say, pushing the tip of your finger gently against his tiny nose, “my parents took an assignment on Hoth. That’s an ice planet, a lot like this one, but more…more glaciers, less trees. Desolate, compared to here.” You look back out the window, the valley of trees and snow around the Crest, the giant mountains that collect around the forest, cascading whiteness up into the darkening sky. “They were miserable. My mother, she’s from Naboo, and, well, you know how temperate it is there, compared to anywhere else,” you say, letting the baby crawl up your leg.</p>
<p>He coos at you, little fingers reaching for your bowl again, and against your better judgement, you pour a little more into his bowl, scrunching your nose at him.</p>
<p>“Last bit,” you warn, and roll your eyes playfully at the offended noise he makes, watching as his face contorts back into happiness the second he gets another taste. “We weren’t there long. A handful of weeks, I think, but I got to play out in the snow sometimes, on the warmer days. I loved it there.” </p>
<p>Your fingers are against your necklace again, thumb pressing up against the star scratched on the back of the metal, listening to the baby smacking his lips around the porridge, smile a ghost on your face. You hadn’t seen snow much since then—maybe once or twice—but whenever you think of the ice, you think of Hoth. You know how dangerous it was, how much your parents dreaded being there—even as a kid, you could sense that much. But you loved the snow, loved sticking your face into it and biting into it, cold and delightful, letting it melt under your tongue. If you had better clothes, here—if you’d just be able to stop on a slightly more populated planet for once—you’d dress the both of you up in warm layers and take the kid outside. But you didn’t know how dangerous this place was, or how long Din would be gone, or if there was anything foreboding out in the wilderness, and, besides, nearly every piece of clothing you owned was shredded down to nothing at this point. From the altercations with the quarries and the outside danger, to the varying climates of the planets you touched down on, to Din’s animalistic desire to tear everything off of you, clothing be damned, you were running your wardrobe very ragged. </p>
<p>Eventually, the night closes in, and all the two of you can see is the dark shapes of trees and the hulking blueness of the snow and sky, and the baby starts fading off into a semi-catatonic state, eyes heavy, swaddled in his blanket. You place him gently in the crib, tiptoeing down the ladder. You’re not sure when the last time you showered was, and, even though Din tried his best to redress you in something cleaner than the clothes he took off you, there’s still blood on your skin, still remnants of what happened down on Coruscant on the outside. You swallow, looking at yourself in the mirror before you step into the fresher, unclothed and exhausted. There’s three different shades of dried blood up your arm, some on your left leg. Your eyes look sunken and dead, your hair is an absolute rat’s nest. </p>
<p>“Get it together, Nova,” you mutter out loud, raking your fingers through your hair, trying to undo the knots it’s been tangled in, “yes, there’s blood all over you, yes you killed someone yester—” You inhale around the weight of it, the word heavy and lodged in your throat. “Okay,” you bargain, wiping away tears, “don’t joke about the k—killing, yet, that’s—” you cut yourself off, tucking hair behind your ears. “Shower now.”</p>
<p>You haven’t talked to yourself like this since you were first out on your own, filling up the vacuum sucking silence of space with words, both yours and song lyrics, belting everything loud enough to drown out the void. After you escaped from Jacterr, when you woke up alone, having nothing but water and very scarce first-aid supplies, you’d yell words instead of just straight up screaming from the pain of your wound, how your clothes would brush up against the burn you’d cauterized over the knife he left in you. If it weren’t for the sound of your own voice, you’re positive you would have lost the will to keep fighting, to land the ship somewhere instead of just letting yourself fade off out there. </p>
<p>The shower feels good. Too hot, the pressure weak, but after the day you’d had and the one after that you’d slept off, it feels like heaven. You lather your hands up with soap, the one that smells like Din, like his skin, musky and warm, and drag it over everywhere that aches. Your shoulders, up the left side of your neck, the bruise blossoming over your knees from riding Din last night, across your collarbone. When all the remnants of blood have been washed off, you rub the bar of soap between your hands again, drag the suds all over the same places you just cleaned. It feels like a ritual. You pull both hands over your head, grabbing the shampoo bar, lathering that up between your palms. You don’t even register it’s the lavender one that you used to frequent until a wave of it washes over you as the soap drips out of your hair, and you startle. </p>
<p>Din must have gotten it for you. He didn’t even tell you, just left it in here for you to find. Maker, you think, grin spreading back over your face, you love him. It swells in your chest, something huge and cosmic, the same starry connection you’ve felt the whole time, multiplied infinitely. He knows you, really knows you, knows you enough that the word also means love, enough to fill an entire galaxy with it. You sing, a love song in another language a bird in your mouth. You don’t know what the words mean. You just know they’re warm, the syllables gorgeous and sloping, and it matches the shape in your mind that Din takes up. </p>
<p>You’re singing loud—loud enough to miss your name radiating out of the comm the first few times. You gasp, turning off the water, nearly skidding across the smooth floor of the fresher, trying to get to it. </p>
<p>“Yes, hi, I’m here,” you say, water dripping down your back, “are you okay?”</p>
<p>“Where do you want to get clothes?” Din asks, and you smile. </p>
<p>“You know,” you say, “every time you call me and you’re not in danger, it still makes my heart react the same way.”</p>
<p>“Nova,” Din says, tone flat, “I am not in danger.” </p>
<p>“Splendid,” you say, rolling your eyes at yourself in the foggy mirror, “I don’t care where we get them. I just need new ones.” </p>
<p>“I like the ones you have now,” Din says, and you can hear him breathing heavier than normal.</p>
<p>“The ones you’ve been ripping off me since we met on Nevarro?” you volley back, wrapping your hair up in a towel, wiping droplets off your forehead. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but they don’t really have any structural integrity left.”</p>
<p>He’s quiet for a second, and then he sighs. All air. “Fair point.” </p>
<p>“Wherever we can get them,” you say, sinking down against the floor. “Maybe we could take a day off, somewhere nice, and just spend it together?”</p>
<p>“Like Naboo?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, or Naator,” you say, grinning against the memory of it. “But it doesn’t have to be peaceful, y’know, if that’s not in the cards. We can go whatever planet we’re on next.” </p>
<p>Din doesn’t answer for a while, so you take your time getting up, toweling dry, slipping into the last pair of clean underwear you have. You’ve just pulled his long tunic over your head when he speaks again. </p>
<p>“I have—somewhere else I want to take you,” he says, voice cutting in and out. “’M gonna—l—connection soon.” </p>
<p>“What?” you say, straining. “I can’t hear you.”</p>
<p>“Gotta go,” you make out, the line crackling, “I—” </p>
<p>And then he’s gone. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>You try not to worry. Or to wallow. But, unfortunately, neither of those things are in your nature, so you just sink down against the wall of the crest, fingernail tucked between your teeth. You’ve slept down here for ages—months, maybe close to a year, now—and every time you and Din are against this wall, it feels different. The same sort of monumental, sure, but you’ve wounded and patched each other up against this wall, you’ve made love against this wall, you’ve confessed truths to each other against this wall, and it still feels like a completely different animal every time you’re here. You press your hand flat against the cold floor, trying to find some of Din’s warmth left over, something to cling to when he’s out there. </p>
<p>Eventually, you pick through the leftover fruit, sinking your teeth into something deep and magenta. You sit in the pilot’s chair, blanket you carried back up the ladder wrapped around your legs, one around your shoulders. The snow picked up while you were showering, and you watch as the flakes spin and hurtle themselves down against the front window of the Crest. It’s dark out there, and the snow feels alien against the trees that circle around the ship. It feels like Kashyyyk—or even Yavin—just flipped upside down, simultaneously whiter and darker. </p>
<p>You’ve tried Din three more times, and all you get is static. You know he can handle himself, that he’s more than capable of weathering the storm, but after everything, after yesterday…you can’t get the image of him, bloody and undone, Xi’an’s purple fingers lodged under the helmet, about to reveal his face to the world. You’ve seen him undone, unmade, but this was different. It’s the closest you’ve ever seen him looking like he’s broken, and that’s terrifying. And, instead of running to him, to try to shield his body with yours, you killed the thing that was hurting him.</p>
<p>Back on Dantooine, back when he rescued you from Merle, he held you up against that wall, hands buried in your hair, he told you not to run. And you’d promised him you wouldn’t. And, despite everything, despite the ruinous, haunted feeling in the pit of your stomach, you didn’t. You stayed. You stayed and fought, even when every single impulse was screaming at you to go.</p>
<p>You sigh, shuddering against the cold, leaning over to check on the baby in his cradle. He’s so peaceful when he’s asleep, those big, expressive eyes quiet and closed. His green body is swaddled up in his robes and his blankets, those giant ears down and relaxed, the tiniest little sliver of his mouth open, breathing soundly. As you lean back against the pilot’s seat, the juice from the fruit drips off into a bright streak, running down your arm. You gasp and slap it away, breath horrible and tangled in your throat, muscle memory of the blood you were spattered with the last time you were awake, and bile rises in your throat. </p>
<p>“Get it together,” you whisper to yourself, eyes welling with tears, “you were protect—protecting the man you love, Nova, and he did it for—you,” you sigh, closing your eyes, the hand that’s not tainted with the hot pink juice finding your necklace. “You’re a Rebel. You’re stronger than this.” </p>
<p>And then, against all odds, your comm starts blinking. </p>
<p>“Din?” you gasp, before you slap your hand over your mouth. You’re not even sure if he’s alone, and after yesterday, any clue towards his identity that only you would know feels like a transgression. “I—are you?”</p>
<p>“Alone,” he confirms, and your heart takes twice as long to calm down as it does to rev up, and your breathing is still heavy before you’re able to speak again. “I’m over the mountain.”</p>
<p>“Which one?” you ask, tipping your head to the side to try and see the peaks that rise and collect around you. </p>
<p>“Big one,” he sighs, and you can hear the wind whistling through his comm, even when it’s anchored in his helmet. “The bounty’s wily. Tricky.”</p>
<p>“How evasive?” you ask, and Din takes a minute to answer. “I—I don’t want you to rush it.”</p>
<p>“What’s wrong?” he volleys back, immediately, and you have to swallow past the lump in your throat. </p>
<p>“I had an incident,” you say, softly, looking at the stain of juice that’s slid down your right wrist, trying not to conflate it with blood. “I—it’s hard, this time. Even when I k—killed the people in the TIE fighters, it was…distanced, enough, I think, that it didn’t affect me as much. But killing her, shooting—” you wheeze out, trying to find the words, “—shooting her, it reminded me of Jacterr. It was too much up close.”</p>
<p>“Nova,” Din sighs, and you close your eyes against the way he says your name—warm, understood. “She would have dropped you the second you moved towards me.”</p>
<p>“How do you know I was going to move towards you?” you ask, head tilted back, looking at the starry ceiling of the ship. </p>
<p>“Because you run,” he says, simply, and you’re about to protest when he continues, “you—you don’t fight defensively. You don’t go in to attack, cyar’ika, you play the offense. I know that you would have tried to get past her to get to me, and she would have sunk one of her knives right into your stomach.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” you say, softly, winded, unable to come up with anything better. </p>
<p>“Ni kar’tayl su,” Din reminds you, voice the gentlest you’ve heard it in a long time. “You have to stop beating yourself up for this, cyar’ika, because you weren’t doing it to hurt her. You were protecting me.” </p>
<p>“I was protecting you,” you echo, thumb tracing the contours of the insignia, trying to conjure up the image of your parents, their kindness, which they passed down to you, and their fight, which they didn’t quite do in the way they wanted to. “Okay.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Din repeats. “Are you going to get some sleep?”</p>
<p>“I slept all day,” you remind him, eyes drifting over to the baby, who’s still snoozing like he doesn’t have a care in the world. You want to keep him just like this in your mind forever, small and peaceful, radiating love out of his tiny green body like there’s no tomorrow. “I’m not tired.” </p>
<p>“That’s what I’m worried about,” Din murmurs, so quiet that you have to strain to hear him. “You…I didn’t want to leave you alone in the quiet, or in the dark.” </p>
<p>“I have the baby. And I’m a big girl,” you remind him, “I can handle it.” </p>
<p>“I know you can,” Din says, so sincere you know that he wasn’t trying to be condescending, or to hurt your feelings, or remind you that he won’t be back tonight. “I—I hate leaving you, Novalise. I don’t—it’s not just because of yesterday. You’re like this—this pulsing force, this magnet. I…” he trails off, giving you time to cross your legs, heartbeat thrumming in your ears, “Every time I leave you, all I want to do is come back.” </p>
<p>“So come back,” you plead, and that truly wasn’t your intention, you know that Din’s way of life is fighting, that hunting bounties is how he makes his living, that he can’t stay static and still and trapped up here on the Crest with you forever, but all you want is him, everything starry and bright inside you pulsing, wheedling, begging. “Don’t—don’t catch the bounty, and we can go somewhere.” </p>
<p>“Nova.”</p>
<p>“I know why you can’t,” you say, tears threatening at the corners of your eyes again, “and I meant it when I said I’ll follow you anywhere. I’ll—I’ll live on the Crest for the rest of my life, waiting for you. But when you come back, I need it to be more than a blip with you bleeding out on the floor before you have to leave again.” </p>
<p>Din sighs. “I know.” </p>
<p>“You told me you needed me to stop putting myself into danger,” you remind him, voice faint, discordant, “way back on Dagobah. Din, I—I need you to do the same thing.” </p>
<p>He’s quiet. “I can’t,” he says, softly. “Not—not yet, not like this, okay?”</p>
<p>You don’t know what he means, but you nod, and then verbally confirm. “Okay.”</p>
<p>“I have to go,” he whispers, and you’re still a wreck, still searching the entire ship for his leftover warmth, but you let him.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>You fall asleep. It wasn’t the plan, especially after sleeping all day. You don’t even know how it happened, because you’re still sitting up in the pilot’s seat, blankets swaddled around you. You stretch both arms over your head, small squeak emitting from your mouth as your jaw cracks with your yawn. Rubbing sleep from both of your eyes, you look over to the baby, how peaceful and quiet he is in sleep, little mouth open, tiny snores expelling out into the open air around both of you. You pull the blankets tighter around your body, eyes squinted at the horizon.</p>
<p>It’s dawn—or, more accurately, about to be—and the stars that are glittering and pulsing in the night sky slowly fade out of their luminescence as the smallest sliver of pink rises behind the mountain you’re sure Din hauled himself over last night, the sun coasting into orange, yellow, every color warmer than the last. You stand, tipping your head back to see how the sky transforms over where the Crest is parked, the snow that fell through the night sparkling and bright. </p>
<p>Some childish, giddy impulse tugs at your heart, and, before you can stop yourself, you’re down the ladder, rifling through your clothes to find something warmer. You step into your least destroyed pair of pants, tugging layers over your head. Then your jacket, then Din’s spare cloak, and then you’re pressing at the airlocks, all of the more rational voices in your head begging you to stay inside. As the gangplank descends, you’re engulfed in the glittering whiteness, spread out for as far as you can see. Your shoes are durable, strong, and they’re not insulated, but even the biting chill doesn’t seep into them when you’re marveling at how gorgeous it is out here, how it feels to be back in something so magical after months spent in hot, humid climates. You don’t know the bounty Din’s catching now, but you don’t think you’d ever be able to blame him for hiding out here instead of somewhere green and swampy. You never thought anything could beat Kashyyyk, but with how striking and bright this planet is, it’s a high contender on that list. </p>
<p>You trod out into the snow, kicking it up in glittering explosions, marveling at how the sun’s light catches through the small flakes as it returns gently on the ground. You can’t help it. You laugh, noise loud and bright, and you immediately let yourself fall backward, the impact cushioned by all the white, soft stuff on the ground. You giggle again, waving your arms through the snow, trying to leave something of yourself behind when you’ll have to leave. Even wet and cold, the snow permeating through the light layers on your legs, you don’t notice the chill. It’s gorgeous out here. </p>
<p>You hear a small noise coming from the ship, and you run back over, hauling the baby up in your arms, pulling his robes closer against his skin to keep him warm. “Do you like the snow, sweetness?”</p>
<p>He coos up at you, large eyes wide and captivated by the sparkling whiteness, and you hold him closer still as a breeze whips through the valley, rustling the deep green pines as it travels through, and you hug the baby closer to your chest as you smile into the wind. </p>
<p>“Me too,” you whisper, gaze fluttering from the Crest to the trees to the sunrise to the mountain to back to the baby, trying to drink it all in. “I haven’t had the chance to play in it since I was a kid.”</p>
<p>The baby’s lips part, and you grin at him. </p>
<p>“The only thing that would make this better is if your daddy was here, too,” you whisper.</p>
<p>“Soon,” a voice rings out, and you flail wildly, pulling the kid’s head against your chest, before you realize that Din’s voice is coming from your wrist. You sigh in relief as the baby shivers, and, taking one last breath of the crisp winter air, you bring the both of you back up the gangplank. </p>
<p>“You scared me,” you breathe, making sure the airlocks are back on as tight as they were before you went outside. “How much did you hear?”</p>
<p>“I’ve been trying to call you for a few minutes,” Din sighs, “I think the connection just came back.”</p>
<p>“Where are you?” you ask, wrapping the baby back up in one of the blankets you left on the floor of the hull. </p>
<p>“Town.” Din’s quiet for a minute. “I have the bounty in my sights.”</p>
<p>“Do you think you’ll be back soon?” you chance, voice small. </p>
<p>“Soon,” Din echoes. “I just need to make sure that I get this one right.”</p>
<p>“What do you mean?” you ask, pulling your snow-soaked pants off your legs, shivering as they hit the open air. </p>
<p>Din sighs again, and you slip back into the most comfortable, warm ones you own, ignoring the big hole in your knee. “We have a bit of history. It—it’s complicated, but I’ll explain when I get back. He’s fast and he’s evasive. Keeps me on my toes.”</p>
<p>“Well,” you say, walking over to where the food is stockpiled, rifling through rations until you can find something warm and brothy, “go be the big, bad, brave bounty hunter we both know you are.” </p>
<p>“I might need you to hide,” Din says, voice abrupt and urgent. “I—listen, this planet isn’t the safest. I don’t know what kind of traffic I’ll be dragging back to the ship if I don’t have an easy go of catching him.” </p>
<p>“I can help,” you say, voice still small. “I can—I can come get you, I can use my blaster—” </p>
<p>“No,” Din interrupts. “Nova, there’s not a chance in hell I’m going to make you fight my battles for me again.”</p>
<p>You blink, the impact of his words bulleting a hole through your heart. “Is—is that what you think I’m doing?” you ask, incredulous. “You protect me, I protect you, Din, that’s the rule. I don’t regret,” you whisper, blinking past tears, “<i>anything</i>. Okay?”</p>
<p>He’s quiet. </p>
<p>“You protect me, I protect you,” you repeat, too loud in the hulking silence of the ship, “okay?”</p>
<p>“I haven’t protected you much lately,” he finally says, voice distant. “I don’t want you to kill for me.”</p>
<p>“Too bad,” you say, through tears, “we don’t have a—a fucking tally, Din, there’s no strikes against you here. You keep me safe, and you make me quiet. As much as I don’t like killing, as much as it haunts me, it was to save your life. I’d do it again in a heartbeat if it meant that I was protecting you from someone who wants to hurt you.”</p>
<p>“Nova—” </p>
<p>“You’d do it for me in an instant. Even if it meant doing something hard—something impossible—I know you’d protect me. So you need to let me protect you back.” </p>
<p>Din’s quiet again, and you can hear your heart hammering in your chest in the echoing silence of the ship. You swallow.</p>
<p>“What if I can’t just yet?” he whispers, voice barely there at all. </p>
<p>“Well,” you counter, shakily, “good thing we have the rest of our lives together, and good thing I’m not going anywhere.” </p>
<p>“Cyar’ika,” he says, voice gentler than you’ve ever heard it. “I—the bounty is moving. I have to leave.” </p>
<p>“Come back to me in one piece,” you whisper, and, for the third time since he left last evening, you let him leave you in the quiet of the hull, trying to find something to fill up that silence.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You sing. And you go back into the fresher. You feel guilty, hogging all the water while Din’s out there, shiny and freezing, but you need something warm to fill the void while he’s gone, and your legs are mottled and swollen from the cold, so you pin all your hair up at the top of your head, letting the water run over your body, massaging all the sore points up and down your spine from where you strained them in the chair. It’s a ghost of the way your muscles feel when Din rubs your shoulder blades, thick fingers unspooling all the knots collected there, but for a second choice, it feels glorious. The soap, clean and smelling like him, taunts you in the corner, and you pull the suds over all the aching places, and only when the fresher fills with steam do you slowly turn the water off, wrapping yourself up in the last dry towel, trying to cling onto the warmth for as long as you possibly can. </p>
<p>When you redress and step outside, the kid is standing there, so tiny on the ground, small green silhouette stopping you in your tracks. </p>
<p>“Maker above, bug,” you gasp, heartbeat accelerating even more before you register that he’s fine, just so small, and you bend down to lift him up into the air. “You scared me. What’s up?”</p>
<p>His big eyes drift over to where the food is, and you smile softly against the darkness of the ship, the light from the fresher illuminating where his small, green finger is pointing. You walk him over, let him sit down on the cupboard and pick out what he wants. It’s the same broth you sucked down earlier, and you frown as you still see him shiver. </p>
<p>“Let’s get some of this into your belly, huh?”</p>
<p>He coos. You nod. You pour the soup into his tiny bowl, lifting it against his mouth until he’s able to grip it instead of you, and you sink back down to the floor, resting the baby and his broth up against the wall. You smooth one hand over his wrinkly head, and he looks up at you with love in his eyes. It’s so unencumbered, so complete—and you don’t know if it’s just the feeling of loving your life or if he’s trying to tell you something through the Force with it, but your heart is so big and so full, the Crest quiet except for the small sound of him slurping down his lunch. </p>
<p>Your commlink chirps, and you startle, your stomach fluttering with the suddenness of it. “Hi, are you—?”</p>
<p>“Need you,” Din yells, over the sound of blaster fire, “to come get me.” </p>
<p>You startle, rocketing yourself upwards, trying to climb the ladder as hastily as you can. Your bare foot slips off the bottom rung, and you cry out, hauling yourself through the hole in the floor and running towards the pilot’s chair. “Where are you?” you cry, heart in your throat. “I—I can’t read your coordinates—” </p>
<p>“Over the big mountain,” Din roars, and you can hear heavy artillery in the static of the call as you power the Crest up, bringing the big thrusters back to life, yanking up on the joystick to make the entire thing fly. The baby returned to his cradle before you came up the stairs, and he whizzes up behind you. “Hurry.” </p>
<p>“Over the—” you mutter to yourself, shaking the last bit of snow off the top of the ship, accelerating and lifting at the same time. It’s still a behemoth, rusty and large, not at all streamlined like the starfighters you’re used to flying, but it’s become less and less reluctant as you’ve been at the helm. The mountain is tall—even taller than it seemed when you stepped out into the snow earlier—and you barely clear it, hurtling toward where the town must be. </p>
<p>You see him, almost immediately. If the silver beskar armor didn’t make him stand out, the crowd of people gathered around where he’s backed up against a wall definitely would. He’s cornered, almost completely, and your heart drops when you realize that the reason he’s so shiny isn’t just because of the snow and the mess of bodies that are tangled around him, but because Din’s bounty is also a Mandalorian. </p>
<p>“Shit,” you whisper, immediately swiveling to look at the very impressionable baby, wiggling your finger at him. “Don’t repeat that.” </p>
<p>He coos, ears perked up, and you snap back to surveying the snowy ground beneath you. To put it plainly, there’s nowhere you can land that would be safe, not for you or for Din on the ground, and then there’s blaster fire again, noise colossal and loud with the sheer manpower of people, and then your eyes adjust. </p>
<p>Not only is Din dragging a Mandalorian with him, but the ground is moving, alive with hundreds of stormtroopers. And as you look up, there are TIE fighters cresting dangerously over the gorgeous horizon. </p>
<p>“<i>Shit</i>,” you repeat, eyes darting back and forth between Din and the rapidly advancing ships. “I’m coming down,” you yell into the comm, “I’ll open the gangplank and you can fly in—holy fuck, what is that?”</p>
<p>Behind the slew of the TIE fighters is a larger, arachnid, titanium vessel. It looks like a fighter on spice with how menacing and huge the architecture is. You don’t scare easy—you think you’ve proven that over the past year—but with how massive and foreboding that thing is, you’re absolutely scared. Its wings unfold even further, and you shoot a volley of rounds at the incoming ships. You’re not good at playing defense, but in the Crest, trying to rescue Din and the bounty on the ground, a disaster of moving parts, you don’t really have a choice. </p>
<p>“Hey, Mando,” you scream, hoping he can hear you over all the noise, “I don’t mean to rush you, but that giant fighter is about to be here any second—” </p>
<p>“Novalise,” he says, and his voice is still loud but no longer panicked, “open the gangplank.” </p>
<p>“Roger that,” you whisper, hitting the airlocks off, descending the gangplank. Your stomach is still tossing, but the second you feel the weight of Din and his bounty land on the floor, you pull the ship upward, closing the plank, slamming every control you can think of to give you the most power. The fighters are on your tail, the huge one that haunts the horizon steadily gaining speed, but you’re in the clear to do what you do best. Fly. </p>
<p>The Crest still isn’t completely subjective to your touch, but it listens and responds to all of your best tactics, letting you shoot a round into the sky while you brake and nosedive, two of the fighters colliding and exploding into orange dust midair. You pull up right before the snow, the impact of the ship sending a wall of the white stuff onto the much smaller TIE fighter, wrangling it down to the ground for long enough to speed back up into the sky, eyes trained on the huge winged one that’s hurtling through the horizon. You squint your eyes, trying to make out the menacing figure obscured by the dark glass of the cockpit. </p>
<p>“Nova—”</p>
<p>“Hold on!” you yell, angling the Crest upwards. You’re playing a little bit of starship chicken here, knowing that no matter how large the fighter is, the Crest is much more durable, less susceptible for air damage. </p>
<p>“That’s Moff Gideon,” Din screams, and in the second it takes for the name to register, you barely pull up in time before he barrels through where the Razor Crest was just idling. Okay, now you’re scared, because he’s bringing the giant fighter around. </p>
<p>“Okay, Nova,” you mutter under your breath, cracking your neck, trying to clear your head. “You’re an expert at hyperspace. Get out of the atmosphere and book it.” </p>
<p>The planet behind you is still glittering in swirls of white sparkle as you speed the Crest out of there, eyes trained on one of its orbiting moons, trying not to think too hard about Gideon’s next move. You don’t know much about him, just the fear that you’ve pieced together from Din’s stories and the murmurings of other estranged Rebels across the galaxy, but you know he’s relentless. Ruthless.</p>
<p>As his giant ship follows you into the vastness of open space, you click off everything you don’t need. Thrusters, speed, blasters, all of it. You’re a sitting duck for a second, enough for him to shoot at you, and, crossing your fingers over your heart, the ricochet of the blast combined with everything inessential being turned off is enough to kickstart the run through hyperspace, all the stars stretching and gleaming as you punch the ship through warp, disappearing from where Gideon’s blast would have torn the Crest to shreds. </p>
<p>You high five the baby’s tiny hand, grin plastered and shining across your face. You hadn’t ever tried that maneuver before—you always deemed it too risky, too terrifying, but you <i>did</i> it. Once you’re sure that Gideon isn’t following you, you climb back down the ladder, heart racing in your victory. </p>
<p>When you land at the bottom, spinning around to find where Din flew in, the bounty—the other Mandalorian—has a blaster leveled at his chest. </p>
<p>It looks ridiculous at first—too outlandish to be scary—because you hadn’t met a single Mandalorian before Din, and your brain is doing cartwheels to try and register he’s not looking into the mirror. </p>
<p>“Hey,” you say, cautiously, immediately putting both of your hands in the air. </p>
<p>“This is who you’ve been keeping your company with?” the other Mandalorian asks, and your gaze darts to where Din’s visor is, trying to meet his eyes through the glass. </p>
<p>“Listen—” </p>
<p>“Nova,” Din’s voice breaks through the silence, and you inhale sharply. “Don’t.” </p>
<p>“Does she know?” the other Mandalorian asks, and your brow furrows, butterflies in your stomach, trying to figure out what he’s asking. “Oh,” he says, turning back to you, “no, she doesn’t.”</p>
<p>“She has nothing to do with this,” Din snaps, and, as the other Mandalorian is distracted, you eye where your blaster is strapped to your thigh. If only Din could distract him long enough for you to make a move for your leg, you think you could leverage it up against the bounty. “You know the deal. I’ll bring you in, Cara will assess you. I have no desire to kill you,” he says, voice so even, “so don’t give me a reason.” </p>
<p>The other Mandalorian lifts his gun higher, and you scramble for your own before he drops it and laughs. “You know that this doesn’t have to be the way.” Or the Way, you can’t tell which context he’s referring to. Your head feels dizzy. He holsters his blaster, cinching it back in. Before you can react, thumb still too far away from the trigger, he’s reaching for his helmet. And then, without warning, he pulls it off. </p>
<p>“What?” you gasp, immediately trying to avert your eyes. “What are you doing?”</p>
<p>“Your boyfriend,” the other man says, “lives by different rules than I do. And of most of Mandalore.” </p>
<p>“I thought—?” you start, peeking through your fingers, mind rolling through all of your assumptions: that Mandalore had been sieged, that Din didn’t even grow up there, that there was only one Way, but all of them get tangled in your mouth. </p>
<p>“Bo-Katan wants to speak with you,” the other man says, gaze shifting to Din again. “Bring me in, fine, but you know she’s going to show up.”</p>
<p>“You’ve threatened me with her before,” Din says, voice even and cold. “I’m not scared of any Mandalorian that shares their face with the world. Especially not Bo-Katan.” </p>
<p>“I’ll go quietly,” the other man says, an edge to his voice you don’t completely understand, “if you promise you’ll help her when she shows up for me.” </p>
<p>Din cocks his head, looking like he’s pondering the proposition, before he lunges forward for the carbonite gas, spraying it in the other, maskless Mandalorian’s face. You recoil as the man yells in surprise, watching as his face gets frozen, immobilized. </p>
<p>“Don’t need you to go quietly,” he mutters, and you look over at him, eyes wide. </p>
<p>“What—” you start, inhaling sharply, “what the hell was that?” </p>
<p>“Come here,” Din says, gruffly, and he pulls you against him, your head resting against one of his chest plates. You can feel the ship wobble with how fast you’re in warp. You’re not even sure where you’re going next, if you’ve made the ship go in the opposite direction of where the next bounty is, but you let him hold you, trying to let the warmth of his hug drown out both the silence of the hull and the noise of your confusion. “I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>“For what?” you ask, still bewildered, “what—why did he take his helmet off? Who is Bo-Katan? There’s still…other Mandalorians?” </p>
<p>Din sighs, dragging a gloved hand up to your cheek. “It’s a long story.”</p>
<p>“We have time,” you encourage, looking up at your own disoriented expression in the opaque visor. “I—we’re in warp, I don’t know where we have to go next, but I want to know.” Your voice sounds wobbly. </p>
<p>“Cyar’ika—”</p>
<p>“Don’t I deserve to know?” you ask, slipping up an octave. </p>
<p>Din’s quiet. “Yes,” he says, finally, “yes, you deserve to know. But it is a long story, and there’s—there’s pieces of it I don’t even understand.” </p>
<p>“Maybe I can help,” you chance, and slide down to the floor of the wall you both frequent. He’s more resolute, still stoic, but he slides down next to you, hand ghosting off your cheek again. You’re still confused, more than you were when the other Mandalorian took his helmet clean off. But you sit there in the silence, letting Din collect his thoughts. “I’m not going anywhere,” you remind him quietly, echoing your promise from earlier and coaxing him to start speaking. </p>
<p>It takes a few minutes, but finally, Din starts talking. </p>
<p>“Mandalore was sieged. The whole history—all of it, going back to before the Clone Wars—is convoluted and messy. I only know bits and pieces of it, because I wasn’t born there. The cohort of people who took me in—they raised me as a foundling to their tribe.” </p>
<p>You nod, slowly, reaching to where his other hand is resting on your thigh and giving it a light squeeze.</p>
<p>“What they taught me, the rules—they’re true for my tribe, the people who raised me. Never take off your helmet in front of others, or you can’t put it back on. We…we have other parts of the Creed that we abide to, but that’s the biggest one.” </p>
<p>Your head feels floaty and off somewhere else, and you shake it a tiny bit, letting your hair fall in your eyes. Din, automatically, moves where his hand is on your face to gently tuck it behind your ear. “Anyone? Ever?”</p>
<p>He’s quiet again, and then he nods. “It—it’s different for families.” </p>
<p>“For families,” you say, faintly. </p>
<p>“I’ve…sidestepped it. With the kid. And a reconfigured nurse droid on Nevarro when we escaped Gideon right before I met you.”</p>
<p>“Is that a hard and fast rule? If—if you marry someone,” you chance, voice small, “can they see your face? Can you put your helmet back on afterward?” </p>
<p>Din sighs, low and heavy. “Technically, no. But…I knew Mandalorians used to. I wasn’t aware that the people who raised me aren’t Mandalorians in the sense that Axe—the bounty—and the clan he belongs to are.” </p>
<p>You squint at him through the darkness. “You lost me.” </p>
<p>He’s quiet again. You can tell vocalizing all of this is hard for him—probably because he’s never had to even put it into words before, never had to explain it to anyone, maybe not even to himself. “Like I said, Mandalore has a long and complicated history. I don’t know all of it. I don’t even think the clan who took me in and raised me knew all of it. There was a siege, yes, and there was a civil war, and there was a clash of the people of the planet. I—the clan who raised me, they raised me with purist Mandalorian ideals, the biggest of which is the rule of the helmet. I wasn’t aware that part of the Creed was something only my clan followed.” </p>
<p>You nod, trying to absorb everything. “So, the bounty—he’s associated with a different clan?” </p>
<p>“A different group of Mandalorians entirely,” Din corrects. “For a long time, the ruler of the planet was Duchess Satine, who tried her best to keep stability and neutrality. Eventually, she was killed. I only know that because of Bo-Katan and the group she runs with. Bo-Katan,” he says, answering your next question, “is Satine’s sister.” </p>
<p>“How do you know her?” you say, quietly. </p>
<p>“I don’t,” he replies, shortly. “Axe, this bounty—he’s been flagged by the New Republic for various crimes. They’re all miniscule in comparison to the quarries I usually pick up, but they’re high ranking enough to warrant an arrest. I’ve caught him before. Bo-Katan came to answer for him.” </p>
<p>“And you don’t like her?”</p>
<p>“She’s…not Mandalorian,” he says, and something in the tone of his voice signals to you that he’s uncomfortable. “Not in the way I’ve been raised in. I’ve only met her in passing, but when she took her helmet off…” Din swallows. “I had no idea. That you could be a Mandalorian and show your face to people who…”</p>
<p>“Aren’t your family?” you fill in, softly. </p>
<p>He nods. You watch as the small reflection of his helmet shoots a dim ray of light across the dark hull of the Crest. “I don’t know what to believe anymore,” he whispers, and if you weren’t directing every single shred of your attention towards him, you don’t think you would have caught it. </p>
<p>“You don’t have to,” you assure him. “I don’t care what rules you follow, what Creed you ascribe to. I love you,” you say, earnestly, your heart still cartwheeling over the words, “I don’t need you to change your way of being for me.” </p>
<p>“Nova, I <i>want</i> to,” he says, hand raising again to cup your cheek, and you lean your face into the palm of your hand. “I…you deserve better than this.” </p>
<p>“It’s not about deserving.” Your voice is high and tight, the words so strained, focusing all of your energy into emphasizing them so he’ll believe you. “It’s about belonging. Okay? I belong to you. You belong to me. Do I need to become a Mandalorian?” you ask, softly, and the question’s out of your mouth before you can stop it, “I—I mean, if you don’t want to break the Creed, how you were taught it, at least, I—I can…convert,” you say, slowly, trailing off as Din starts shaking his head. </p>
<p>“I told you I’d drop it all for you,” he says, other hand coming up to hold your left cheek, too, and just like you were the first time he held you like this, you’re suspended under his grip. “I meant it. I meant all of it. I’m just…trying to figure it out.” </p>
<p>You nod, lips puckered up at the edges with the intensity of how he’s holding your face. “I’m not going anywhere,” you reassure him. “Is this why you…said earlier that you can’t give it all up yet? Bounty hunting, the Creed, everything?”</p>
<p>He nods in the dark. “Soon,” he says, quietly. “I—I told you there’s somewhere I want to take you the other day, over the comm.”</p>
<p>You nod. “I remember.” </p>
<p>“We’ll go there next,” he promises, “And I’ll get you the new clothes that I promised you three planets ago. Okay?” </p>
<p>“Okay,” you echo, despite the tight knot in your chest, the way it lodges in your throat. “I love you,” you repeat, earnest, “and you don’t have to say it back, you don’t—you don’t even have to feel it,” you whisper, even though the thought of Din not loving you back feels like your heart is shattering into a million tiny pieces, you mean it, “I just need you to know it. To understand it.” </p>
<p>He looks at you, visor tilting subtly between your lips and your eyes. You wouldn’t have noticed if you didn’t know him so well, knew the imperceptible changes in his stature. “I know,” he says, and then, “ni kar’tayl su darasuum.” </p>
<p>“Forever,” you enunciate, grabbing both of his wrists with your own. “I’m never going to run from you.” </p>
<p>“Cyar’ika,” he whispers, still holding you there. Everything feels huge and cosmic, the same way it’s always felt, but right now, something about the way you’re in Din’s arms, the hurtle through hyperspace, being surrounded by all these stars and silence, it’s colossal. “Stay here,” he says, and before you can register where he’s going, he’s up and climbing the ladder. Your brow furrows down the middle before you realize that he’s taking you out of warp, the thrust of it knocking you back before you can stabilize yourself. When Din climbs back down the ladder, you fight your usual urge to ask him where in the galaxy you are, what planet the Crest will be landing on next. For now, it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Nothing except the two of you, the baby, and the ship.</p>
<p>When Din stands over you, he holds out his hand. His figure is hulking, broad, completely eclipsing everything else, even in the darkness around you. You marvel at just how much you see him under the armor, how even in this intimidating stance, he’s not the Mandalorian. He’s just Din. And you love him. </p>
<p>Silently, you take his hand, rising with his help. He’s completely surrounding you, now, everything in your line of vision is Din from the neck up, just the pauldrons and the helmet. He seizes you again—all the gentleness from how he held you earlier was gone. He’s not touching you like you’re something breakable, something softer than him—he’s touching you like you’re a lifeline. You moan as his hands travel from your shoulders to your face, and he starts pulling his gloves off. When they’re both forgotten on the floor, he brushes the tip of his thumb over your lips, touch light, and you immediately open your mouth, engulfing his whole finger with your tongue.</p>
<p>“Can’t do things like that,” he grits out, but he’s making no moves to pull his thumb away, so you just suck harder, keeping your eyes wide open, hoping with all your heart that you look more brazen than you feel. “Cyar’ika.” </p>
<p>You let his thumb go, swirling you tongue over the tip before it leaves your mouth. “Yeah?”</p>
<p>“You promise?” he says, thick and heavy. </p>
<p>All your blood is pumping in your ears, so you blink at him, confused. “What?”</p>
<p>“You’re never going to run from me?”</p>
<p>You look up at him, both of his bare hands completely engulfing your face. “Never,” you repeat, “I promise.” </p>
<p>Din holds you there, completely steady. You can feel the sucking silence around you, so loud, so full of your breath, and then both of his hands drop from your face to your hips. You moan as he grabs them, hoisting you up against the wall. Your voice comes out all choked and high as his hands slip from either side of your body to cup under your ass, holding you there. Your face is level where you imagine his are, and you stare into the visor intently, completely. </p>
<p>For a second, you don’t move. Neither of you move. And then he moves in close to you, close enough that you go cross eyed. You don’t know what he’s doing, so you brace either hand on his pauldrons, letting him hold you there, keep you steady. </p>
<p>“Take it off,” Din says, quietly, and you startle. You can’t access your clothes from where he’s holding you here, both of your legs wrapped around his waist. “The helmet,” he continues, quieter still, and you look at him. “I trust you.”</p>
<p>The usual words—keep your eyes closed—don’t follow it, but you do anyways. Immediately, without any hesitation, because you know how much looking means to him, especially after today, after the whole conversation, after everything. When Din’s lips meet yours, it feels like you’re the only thing in the galaxy. His tongue slivers between your lips, swirling stars behind your teeth, both hands still clasped under you, lifting your whole torso up against the wall.</p>
<p>You don’t know how long he suspends you there for, but it’s long enough for time to completely disappear through space. The hull is dark and quiet other than the sounds of the two of you devouring each other, the whole world stopping to give you the time. Din holds you there without wavering, until you slip your mouth down his neck, flickering your tongue against his pulse point, the same radiant spot the one that’s hidden just under your ear. You feel his hands clench and release, and before either of you can stop it, you’re both on the floor.</p>
<p>“Ow,” you say, muffled, because then his hands are behind your head, lifting the upper half of your torso, sealing his mouth against yours. Everything else just becomes a pearl in your mouth, disappearing back into his. You can feel him, hard, against your thigh, and as he moves up, pressing himself against you, it shifts between your legs. </p>
<p>“You’re wet,” he murmurs, and you nod fervently, feeling his kisses drip back down across your collarbone, his tongue licking over your sternum. </p>
<p>“I want you,” you moan, feverish with how warm Din’s body is against yours, the heat that rushes somewhere low and deep. “Missed you—fuck—so much. There wasn’t anything here to keep me warm like you do, when you were out there—in the wilderness, in the cold—” </p>
<p>“Thought of you out there,” he interrupts, kissing down your torso, and you heave off your shirt, throw it somewhere across the floor, “only thing that kept me going.”</p>
<p>“Mmm,” you agree, feeling your pants and then your underwear hiked back down over your hips. “I—I want you—this—forever. Forever,” you repeat, all air, as the tongue that was doing cartwheels over your body a second ago is licking every single inch between your thighs, slow, long, purposeful. Your knees move involuntarily, and Din takes the opportunity to pull both of your ankles over his shoulders, the armor that’s still there cold to the touch. You gasp as your back arches against the floor, his middle finger plunging deep inside you, thick, warm, grazing against places so low and wet you forget they exist when he’s not inside of you. Your moan gets tangled in your throat when he stops only to lick a slow, agonizing pattern along the line where your legs meet your pelvis, and, without realizing it, you’re tugging at his hair.</p>
<p>It’s longer than it was the last time Din’s head was between your thighs like this, not by much, but enough to notice the difference. You can feel the stubble of his chin and the sturdier brush of his mustache whenever your legs contract around him, begging, enticing, trying desperately to pull him in closer.<br/>“You taste good,” he says, and the longing in his voice makes all the stars in the galaxy rush through your veins. “So good,” he echoes, barely anything at all, and with he hungry way his fingers are moving inside of you, how distracted his mouth is, you’re pretty sure that he’s not even aware of the words he’s muttering, just hoisting your legs further up his shoulders, so he can move his tongue up and around your clit, swiping down and back to catch every single slick part of you, and when his fingers curl up deep inside of you, you moan, everything in you a live wire. </p>
<p>“’M gonna—” you start, and before the words are out of your mouth, you already are. </p>
<p>His head comes up, just for a second, and your eyes flutter open. It’s only enough to catch the prominent hook in his nose, everything else is dark and completely obscured, and you think you can sense it more than you can see it, anyways, and then his mouth is back to devouring you.</p>
<p>“You’re sweet,” he rumbles against you. </p>
<p>“I didn’t even say anyt—” </p>
<p>“I wasn’t talking about your personality, cyar’ika,” he says, muffled against your pussy, “you’re sweet. My sweet girl. Taste good.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” is all you can manage, strangled. “oh, oh—” </p>
<p>And then you’ve came a second time, the stars behind your eyes shooting and crackling off somewhere you can’t place. You reach blindly for Din, trying to drag him up to you, but all you can do is hook your thumbs on the waistband of his pants, trying to pull them down. </p>
<p>“Leave it,” he says, quietly, and immediately, you stop. “I didn’t mean that,” he immediately amends. “I just—I’m…I’m about to cum myself, and I haven’t even felt you. The second you touch me, I’m not gonna be able to last—” </p>
<p>“Just cum inside me,” you beg, your voice breathy and desperate, “just o—one stroke, that’s all I want, I just want to feel you, Din, <i>please</i>—” </p>
<p>“I’m about to cum any second,” he warns, strained, and your breath catches in your throat. “I’m serious—tasting you, hearing you moan, you got me all the way there without even touching me.” </p>
<p>“One stroke,” you plead, again, “ju—just the tip, I want to <i>feel</i> you—” </p>
<p>Din sighs, long and hard, and then, right when you’re about to beg shamelessly, you feel him. It is just the tip at first, and, almost involuntarily, you thrust your hips up and gasp as you sink down to the hilt, and the way he moans in your ear gets you there again. He slams his own hips down into you, sinking every inch into you, and when he cries out your name, it’s like everything in the entire galaxy stops. </p>
<p>Your blood rushes through your ears, deafening and loud, and when the sound comes back, it’s just the two of you holding each other, still entangled, gasping and heaving. “Wow,” you manage, the sound of it all choked, and you can feel Din’s head nod against the crook of your neck. He doesn’t pull out immediately, just stays there, catching his breath, and what feels like all the time in the world later, he does, and collapses on the floor next to you. You’re already on the verge of sleep—you don’t want to be, you want to hold him, savor every single second with him on this ship before he has to leave again, but after how hard you came and how long the day felt, your eyes are fluttering off somewhere in dreamland. Wordlessly, Din strips himself down of the armor, just pulling his underwear back over his hips, smoothing a hand through your hair. He fumbles around in the dark until he finds the light of the fresher, and he pulls the least worn pair of panties out of your mess on the floor. You only catch a glimpse of his back, his torso long and broad, and then you squeeze your eyes shut again, refusing to let even the light in until he’s back in front of you. You feel him pick you up, gently carrying you over the few steps to the bed, and, before you can tell him it’s okay, you can sleep on the floor, he climbs in there with you, heart to heart, hands running up and down your naked back. </p>
<p>Din’s hands are buried in your hair. It’s been forever since you both slept in the cot, the rock he calls a bed, but after today, after everything, the two of you being pressed together feels natural. You can feel the way his fingers are scratching, following the ridges of your worry lines, even in the pitch black. </p>
<p>“Where are we going next?” you mumble, sleepily, even though you promised yourself earlier that you wouldn’t ask. </p>
<p>Din’s quiet. “You’ll see when we get there,” he says, softly. </p>
<p>“Okay,” you say, completely satiated, pressing your cold nose deeper against his neck. Even on the edge of sleep, you marvel at how good he feels, how warm his body is, how safe you feel here, more and more every single day. You’re almost completely into sleep when he speaks again, and you’re not even sure if you emit any noise to indicate you’re listening. Words fall out of his mouth that don’t seem like Basic, even though it might just be because everything’s hazy and you’re already halfway into a dream. And then, after your breathing regulates, after you’re on the other side of sleep, you feel the way his lips contort against your ear, taking the same shape as yours have. </p>
<p>"Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.”</p>
<p>You can’t translate it. The syllables are foreign and you’re teetering so close into full sleep. But you don’t care. As you feel him shift against you, drawing you in even closer, you know he’s showed you love in words you can’t even articulate. And, Maker, that’s enough. Even in sleep, you know it’s enough. Din’s fingers tangle in your hair, spelling out the words you know he’s radiating. And, again, that same feeling runs backward through you, something starry and huge, something farther beyond your reach. Something more. </p>
<p>And this time, you know beyond the shadow of a doubt that Din feels it too.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I HOPE YOU LOVED IT!!!!</p>
<p>if anyone has any questions about the references to Axe and Bo-Katan, please just let me know! it's been my plan from the beginning for SM to jump back into canon when Din and Grogu go to Corvus and meet Ahsoka, so this was my way of introducing Bo-Katan, Mandalore, the dark saber, and everything attached to her storyline in a way that is (hopefully) not confusing!! but of course, if y'all have any questions, please just drop a comment here or on tumblr!</p>
<p><b>CHAPTER 19 SHOULD BE UP AS PLANNED AT 7:30 PM EST SATURDAY, APRIL 24TH!!!!</b> i am in the last two weeks of classes and then it's graduation, so the next few weeks writing-wise may be a bit inconsistent. i love making Saturdays Something More days, and usually, writing and uploading consistently isn't an issue, but with finals and graduation and then moving 8 hours back home, i might have to take a brief hiatus. as always, i will let you know on tumblr (amiedala) and tiktok (padmeamydala) if that's what's going to happen!!! i'm also anticipating there to be a cliffhanger in the next few chapters, and i apologize profusely in advance if this falls on the weeks where i can't post regularly!!! :( i love writing SM as much as you all love reading it, and i don't ever wanna leave you hanging, but these next few weeks are going to be intense so i hope you understand and will still stick around!!! your support has truly meant EVERYTHING to me these past few months, and i am so, so overjoyed to have each and every single one of you here with me!!!!! &lt;3</p>
<p>xoxo, amelie</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Riduur</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Your name means noise. And my name means to shine,” you barrel over him, and then his hand is pulling you in, and you fall to your knees, kissing him, his unencumbered lips, tears streaming in full force down your face. “M—my name means to radiate, to shine in silence—” </p><p>“And you do,” he interrupts, fingers tracing maps he cartographed across your face. “What are you saying?”</p><p>Your laugh comes out too loud, discordant, strange, but another array of stars streak over the horizon, a beacon, a benediction. Something to guide you home. You kiss Din again, grabbing at his face, greedy and impatient, wanting to let your lips roam everywhere they possibly can, to thank him for trusting you. “I’m saying,” you say, squeaking out a shaky, giddy breath, “that we’re made for each other. And, also, that Novalise Djarin has a mighty fine ring to it.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello lovelies!!! i hope you’re absolutely psyched for Something More Saturday—this chapter means the world and more to me. the vision that i’ve had in my head for the last five months is finally here <b>(TO BE CLEAR: SOMETHING MORE IS NOT OVER YET!!! WE STILL HAVE TWO WHOLE STORY ARCS TO GO MY LOVES!!!)</b>, and i want you all to know that this chapter is dedicated to each and every single one of you. (and a special lil shoutout to my bff lisa, because she’s almost the birthday girl and she’s been supporting me since day one!!!) cannot even put into words how much your dedication, kindness, support, and love means to me. the friends and community i’ve gained from SM has made my whole year. this chapter (AGAIN: THIS IS NOT THE END!!!!! I PROMISE!!!!!) feels huge and residual to me, and it’s this dream i’ve been writing my way up to for months. i am so unbelievably excited to share this chapter with y’all, and i sincerely hope you love it as much as i do. <b>(more info about the next few chapters will be at the end! enjoy!!)</b></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When you wake up, you can’t see. </p><p>You think it’s just the pitch dark of the alcove where Din’s cot is, and then you register the feeling of fabric tied against your eyes, your eyelashes tangling in the fibers of it. </p><p>“What—” you stutter, panic a burning pyre in your chest, your heart butterflying against its ribcage. “Wh—Din?” </p><p>“I’m here,” he says, immediately, and you can find his face in the dark. “I’m sorry about the blindfold, cyar’ika, I just really wanted this to be a surprise.” </p><p>You blink, internally kicking yourself when the fabric gets in your eyes again. “I—you could have just told me to keep my eyes closed. You trust me enough to still do that, right?” </p><p>He’s quiet, and then you feel your body gently being dragged to the end of his bed, his hands ungloved and warm where they’re hooked under either of your knees. “Of course I trust you, Nova. But you have a bad habit of waking up and exploring the ship in the dark after you come back from the fresher.” </p><p>“I do not,” you say, incredulous, and you can feel your mouth struck open and wild. “I—I am a light sleeper, thank you very much, I do not explore the ship in the dark—” </p><p>“You do,” Din interrupts, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “You did last night. Tried to climb the ladder, and even if you were able to make your clumsy, half-asleep body up to the top unscathed, it was right when we dropped out of warp. You would have seen where we were and ruined the surprise.” </p><p>You furrow your eyebrows under the blindfold. “I really…I sleepwalked?” </p><p>Din’s hands come up and cup your face. “You did.” </p><p>“I haven’t done that since I was a kid,” you murmur, lifting your thumbnail to your mouth, biting down, trying to dissect why last night, of all nights, was the time your body decided to make you move without your permission or even your knowledge. “Did I talk in my sleep, too?”</p><p>Din chuckles. “No. You snored, though.” </p><p>“I do <i>not</i> snore!” you volley back, hands flapping at where you think his body is. Your skin comes in contact with his, something fleshy and exposed, and your hand rests on Din’s arm until you remember he just accused you of sleepwalking and snoring, and you swat at him again. </p><p>“You did last night. You were sleeping hard. Here, if you promise you won’t open your eyes, I’ll take this off you.” </p><p>“I promise,” you say, immediately, “of course I won’t.” </p><p>“I trust you,” he replies gently, “I—I’ve just been planning this for a few weeks. More, really. So I just want you to be surprised. Okay?”</p><p>“I don’t normally like surprises,” you mutter, as he leans over you to tug on the knot in the fabric cinched behind your head, “but I trust you, too.” </p><p>“Glad we’re on the same page,” Din says, and you can’t help but grin back at him when you hear the smile in his own voice. </p><p>“I really got out of bed last night?” you ask, hearing the baby’s cooing. Thankfully, Din redressed you sometime in between your hot and heavy reunion on the floor and before you woke up this morning, so you feel around until you decide to try to locate him internally. You breathe out all the air you’re holding, keeping your eyes closed, trying to let everything that isn’t the kid run out of you. It’s like he becomes a beacon—not an image of him, exactly, but a force. You can feel his energy radiating, and when you reach your hands out, you cinch them softly against his tiny waist, pick him up and let him rest in your lap. </p><p>“That was impressive,” Din says, and your heart does backflips in your chest. “How did you find him like that? Without looking?”</p><p>“Um,” you answer, nervously, “I—I know what his little feet sound like on the floor, and he was just babbling at me, so…lucky guess?”</p><p>“Mm,” Din says, and then he’s right next to you. “We’ll be there soon.”</p><p>“Okay,” you say, trying to remain as neutral as possible. You promised him you wouldn’t open your eyes, so even when he climbs the ladder and starts moving the Crest closer to what you’re expecting is a new planet’s atmosphere, you don’t. You sit in the silence with the baby. Your heart is still hammering in your chest, and he slowly pushes his little three-fingered hand over the fabric of your shirt, trying to ease it, calm you down. “I’m okay,” you relay to him, whispering, “I promise, sweetness.” </p><p>You can feel him there, still, energy pulsing and warm, and eventually, you fight the urge and just let him lean up against you, let his little force of nature bring you back to baseline. You don’t know why this is such a big secret you’ve been keeping. It makes sense, really, especially because you’re not even sure if it is the Force that you’re feeling, or if you’re just an empath, extra intuitive, because no one has ever sat you down and explained that something bigger than yourself lives inside you. Honestly, you’ve always been able to connect to your surroundings more deeply than those around you, but you just figured that was part of being you. Part of being Nova, your radiance, your shine—it all just picked up on frequencies other people couldn’t. But the second you made that lightsaber fly out of Jacterr’s hand, you’ve suspected. No matter how far you’d pushed the thought away, it kept returning, something buoyant and strong that couldn’t be chased off. And now, after the cave on Dagobah, after the visions you and the baby have shared, after you made the blaster fly right out of Xi’an’s wicked hand back into yours—it seems obvious. You don’t believe in coincidences, and this is something too repetitive to not be fate. </p><p>But you’re scared. Not just of telling Din, but of the implications that saying it out loud might bring. You haven’t talked about it more than the few times he’s brought it up first, but the knowledge that Moff Gideon—along with seemingly every bounty hunter in the galaxy—is after the baby is already terrifying. Din told you they want to take him, harvest something in his blood or his cells, trying to tap him for that something more that lives in his tiny green body. And you can’t imagine that they’d want anything more innocent with you if they found out that you could harness the Force, that you had something that made you worth more dead than alive. You know that Din’s intention is still to take the kid to find a Jedi, and you don’t even know if your hold on the Force—if that’s what it really is—is strong enough to teach him. You didn’t even know about it for almost twenty-five years of your life. So telling Din—showing him—just feels like you’re putting him into more danger. Him, the baby, the three of you. If you keep it to yourself, if you don’t let anyone know, you’ll be protecting them. </p><p>When you hear Din come back down the stairs, you try your best to wipe your face clean of any signs of internal worrying, erasing the monologue you just did in your head clean so he won’t ask you about it. You can’t tell for certain if it’s completely gone, but your expressive eyes are still shut, your best line of defense. You feel his hand—still uncovered—ghost over your jawline, tuck loose hair behind your ear. </p><p>“We’re about here,” he says, and his unmodulated voice sings through the shadows. You can feel the way it calms you, so completely and so immediately, even when your stomach is in your chest from roiling in circles a few minutes ago. “I know I promised you that we would stop somewhere with a store to get you new clothes, and I will be keeping that promise. But this,” he sighs, “this takes precedence. I promised you something else first, and I intend to keep that one now.” </p><p>You have absolutely no idea what he’s talking about. You just sit there, biting your lip, trying to figure it out, and he kisses you. Just once, and then he’s up the ladder again. You flutter your fingers over where his lips once were, trying to put two and two together. Before Carlac was Coruscant, then Akiva, then Nevarro, then Balnab, then Kashyyyk. <i>Kashyyyk</i>. Your heart flips over in your chest. remembering Din’s promise when you both left the surface. He told you that he would take you back—and, holy Maker above, when you asked Din if you were sure you’d know he was proposing, for real, he said something about seeing his face. </p><p>“No,” you say, voice coming out in a low squeal, too giddy, “no, Nova, you—this is <i>crazy</i>,” you interrupt yourself, warmth of the heat rushing to your cheeks and making you flush completely overwhelming. The baby climbs into the hollow of your arm where you’re still touching your mouth, and you haul him up so that his little head notches perfectly in the crook of your neck. You can feel the way that your heart is beating, relentless, in your chest. Silently, you remind yourself that Din’s still hesitant, especially after the events of yesterday, of Axe’s incendiary, warning tone, the mention of Bo-Katan, Din being unsure how to interpret his Creed—but something cosmic and huge is blooming inside you. Behind all the rushing feelings of apprehension and excitement, there’s something concrete and real there. You know something is going to happen here. And you would bet your life that you’re back on Kashyyyk. </p><p>Din climbs down the ladder again, and as the Crest touches the landing of the planet, you don’t have enough self-control to hide the giddy, excited smile on your face. </p><p>“What are you grinning at, cyar’ika?” Din asks, and you smile harder at hearing his voice, still unmodulated, so free, so rich, so his, spill out of his mouth. </p><p>“Nothing,” you say, wide lipped and shining. “I—I’m just happy to hear your voice.” </p><p>“You haven’t opened your eyes at all,” he notices, and it’s more of a statement than a question, “not even while I was upstairs. Did you?”</p><p>“No,” you answer, still smiling up at him. </p><p>“My good girl,” he remarks, and then his grip is in yours, hauling you to your feet. The rush of warmth that pools between your legs is immediate, so overwhelming that you don’t even notice that his hands are gloved again. You let him lead you over to where you think the gangplank is, and then Din’s hand slips out of yours to gently place either palm on your shoulders, steady, keeping you in place. “I’m going to put the blindfold back on you now, Novalise, is that okay?” </p><p>You nod eagerly, then assure him. “Yes. That’s okay.”</p><p>The fabric feels much less foreign this time, and when you open your eyes, it’s loose enough where your lashes don’t get caught anymore. You smile as Din’s hand slips back down into yours, and when the airlocks hiss off, you feel your heart doing that same cartwheeling in your chest. </p><p>“Where’s the baby?” you ask, immediately, trying to feel around for him in your head. </p><p>“He’s in his cradle,” Din answers, “behind us.” </p><p>“He’s coming with us?” you ask, and that feeling inside of you that’s screaming you’re back on Kashyyyk is even louder and stronger than it was when you first started thinking about it. Wherever you are, it’s safe enough for the three of you to leave together. You don’t have your blaster, and the baby coos from his egg, and you know Din has deemed this place okay enough to let the kid tag along, unincumbered and in the open air. You feel it. You try to talk yourself back from that ledge of where you feel his proposal is hiding, because you might be reading way into this situation, too close to comfort. It’s entirely possible he’s just bringing you outside here because it’s a stopover on the way to the next bounty, that Din just wants to take the day off from getting hurt, from putting the three of you in danger. It might not even be Kashyyyk you’re on, you reason to yourself as the gangplank starts descending, you could be somewhere back in the Mid Rim, or you could be on Tatooine, for all you know, but the second the both of you step forward on the descended metal and your feet meet solid ground, you smell it. </p><p>The air is so clean. It’s fresh and it takes the shape of something glorious and green, even with your eyes shut and bound. Your chest feels open and free as you inhale, and you lift your hands to the warmth of the sun the second you step out of the Crest’s shadow. It seizes something starry in you, your love for Din, how well he knows you—truly, deeply knows you, better than you know yourself—and when you feel his hand squeeze in yours, you have to swallow past a sudden lump in your throat. </p><p>“Come with me,” he whispers in your ear, and your heart flips over again. Blindly, you follow him, beaming even when you trip over leaves and roots, knowing that you’re somewhere that feels like home. You can feel it through the blindfold, the warm breeze, the way it rustles through the trees. You’d bet your entire life on it that you’re back somewhere green and gorgeous. You can smell it in the air. </p><p>Finally, Din slows down, and your heart ricochets against your chest, thumping harder and harder as your feet stop moving. </p><p>“I’m going to take this off now,” he says, and you nod. His gloved fingers slip around to the back of your head, and you feel like every single part of you is a live wire. When the blindfold falls off, you open your eyes, slowly. His helmet is on. You swallow past your disappointment—okay, maybe he just took you here because he wants to give you a break, not because he’s going to be standing there without anything on his face, that’s fine, you still love him so much—and then your eyes blink open and you see the greenery around you. It’s walls and walls of green trees, brown trunks and branches seeping into roots, seeping further into the earth. Your heart does backflips again, enough to make you gasp on the inhale. The sky above you is blue, so clear blue, so vivid and warm, the sun hanging over the planet’s atmosphere warm and present. </p><p>“You brought me back here,” you breathe, eyes brimming with tears. Din cocks his head at you, and your eyebrows furrow, confused. You look back at your surroundings, wiggling your toes in your boots, still planted in brown, fertile earth. All the trees are massive and swaying, dancing in the green breeze. The climate is warm—not too hot, and not too cold. You let your gaze drift over the leaves, follow the way the trees plant into the earth, and then your nose catches it as the wind drifts through you. Ocean. Something salty, something way more primal and inherent than the body of water on Kashyyyk was. You’re confused, trying to put two and two together, trying to catalogue all of the elements faster than your heart is leading you to your desperate conclusion. You whip back to look at Din, his fingers slipping through your outstretched hand when your braid lifts in the breeze. </p><p>“Nova—” </p><p>“Oh,” you say, the word barely air, barely anything at all. “Oh.” </p><p>And you turn around. Past the Crest, past where you landed, there’s the lapping of tides. Your eyes catch on the trees again, squinting until it’s clear what’s growing on their limbs. Everywhere, bioluminescent flowers, blue and purple, bloom across the brown. Ferns you missed before are hanging from the branches, sprouting in handfuls through the field you’re standing in. You swallow, completely swinging yourself around, and your heart clenches and releases when you catch sight of the base where you grew up, overgrown and hidden by all the greenness, but you know exactly what the contours of the building are, you know where the forest meets your home. </p><p>Yavin. You’re on Yavin. For the first time in ten years, maybe longer. It’s so green and glorious, so full of color, so rich in its biodiversity and life. The orchids spill across the wild grasses, and you inch your toe forward, stepping from the rich soil your boots are planted in, to the edge of where the fields are, and tears fill and spill from your eyes. </p><p>“Nova?” Din tries again, but you feel frozen. Everything in you is vast and heavy, starry and huge. You can’t bear it. It hurts, it burns like your scar does in heat, like you do when Din’s hands are on your body. </p><p>“You brought me home,” you manage, wrenched around a sob, and then, before you can stop it, you’re running.</p><p>It’s stupid. You know that, even frantic and wild, running from the man who’s spent his entire life tracking down bounties he doesn’t know, the man you love, the man who loves you, is insane. He could be on you in two seconds, because he’s quick and he’s calculating and, not to mention, several feet taller than you. His frame eclipses yours even when you’re running, and he’s calling your name out behind you, and you’re tripping over roots and grass and you’re not even sure where you’re even going, but you can’t stop. Even though you want to. Even though all you want to do is turn around and hold him, to show him the place you used to call home, something desperate and broken inside of you is compelling you to keep going. You’re not a good runner. You’re not good on your feet, period, but the base is empty and deserted, and you don’t have a single ship here besides the Crest. You cry as you run, chest hurting, wheezing, trying desperately to make it wherever you’re going.</p><p>You can’t outrun Din. You know that. You don’t even have a chance, because even if you were a match for the size of his vastness, even if you had the skills to run from an experienced bounty hunter, a man that literally tracks down people for a living, you don’t want to be running. You promised him you wouldn’t, even, and it’s that thought and that thought alone that makes you stop. You freeze, crying something horrific, hands seized around fistfuls of green grass as you sink into the field, the luminescence of the flowers glittering through your tears. You sob, completely uncontrollable now, as you feel Din—and Maker, the baby whizzing along right behind him—catch up to where you’re a puddle on the ground, undone. </p><p>“Novalise,” he says, breath heavy through the modulator, “hey, cyar’ika—<i>hey</i>—I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, are you okay?” </p><p>“I—” you start, still so heavy with tears, “wh—why are we here?” </p><p>He stares at you. Even through the visor, you can tell. It’s strong and it’s pulsing and it’s cosmic, and he drops down into the grass with you, holding you up completely with both of his hands. Just like he’s always done. Like it’s nothing. Like it’s easy. “I…” he starts, cutting himself off. You let him rip his gloves off, discarding them in the tall grass as he seizes your face again, cradling both of your cheeks, completely disregarding the fact that his hands are showing, bare and open, under the bright sunlight of Yavin. Yavin Prime is oscillating, huge and gaseous, through the atmosphere, and the sight of it soothes you, distant and gleaming. “I…I showed you where my home used to be. My cohort. On Nevarro. I—I know that being here is,” he stops, frustrated, trying to find the words. “I know that being here is difficult, and it’s not exactly your home anymore. But you deserve to know that it still belongs to you, that you’re allowed to be here.” </p><p>“It hurts,” you whimper, voice broken. “To be here, it hurts.” </p><p>Din’s still holding you, and he brushes his thumb over your cheek, catching your tears before they even leave your eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says again, so sincerely, so gently. “Nova, I’m so sorry. I thought—it doesn’t matter. Come on. We can—we can go back to the Crest and leave, go wherever else you want to go.” </p><p>You nod, slowly, and then another breeze ruffles across the plains, the trees dancing and singing with the gust, and the flowers that are collected around you shine. They’re all orchids, glorious and glittering under the sun, and then the light reflects off Din’s helmet, a divining rod straight for your necklace. It ruffles with the wind, enough to lift off your neck, and you close your finger and thumb against it, pinching down to keep you secure, anchored. When you remove your thumb from the back of the silver insignia, the star you etched in it after your parents’ deaths is embossed in your flesh. </p><p>You sob, and Din pulls you in close to his chest. You let the wind lift your hair up, where the rest is loose and free in the breeze under the braid that’s holding the top half down, and you swallow. “No,” you say, so quietly you’re not even sure if the word fell out of your mouth at all, “no, n—I don’t want to leave.” </p><p>Din pulls away, studying your face, thumb grazing across the arch of your cheekbone. “Are you sure?”</p><p>“My home is you,” you say, looking back at your teary eyes in his visor, “but…I want to show you this place.”</p><p>“Are you sure?” Din echoes, and you nod. He studies you, and you nod back, more secure, chin clenched to keep from wobbling. “You…you just say the word, and we’ll leave.” </p><p>“This place is full of all my ghosts,” you warn, wiping the rest of your tears away with the heel of your hand after both of you return to a standing position. “I—I don’t know how I’m going to feel,” you say, voice small and wrenched away in the warm wind. </p><p>Din doesn’t say anything for a minute, and then, his hands are enclosed around your cheeks again, completely engulfing the bottom half of your face. “Nothing you could ever do,” he says, voice deep and intentional, “could scare me.” </p><p>He tips his forehead against yours, so sure and secure, and you stifle another sob rising in your throat, pushing the knowledge that you’re keeping your ability to use the Force from him. But, instead of burning with guilt, you just let him hold you, and when he pulls away, his hand is cinched in yours, completely yours to lead. You’re in control. You can feel it, know the way his body language shifts, the way that he’s holding onto you. He trusts you. More than anything. So you push anything else away except for Din, his hand, and the baby, stepping a sure foot onto the ground you used to call home. </p><p>It's changed so much and not at all. You lead Din and the baby, slowly and carefully, across the moors where you ran free when you were a kid. The orchids bloom and blossom everywhere, now, with no grease and oil from all the starfighter engines repeatedly landing and taking off. The grasses are tall, marking up to your knees, and you step carefully, trying to avoid stomping down on any fresh vegetation that wasn’t here the last time you walked this earth. Finally, your boots meet the concrete, faded and worn, and then your heart is catching in your throat because you’re looking up at the base that held a whole other life.</p><p>This, the building, has changed more than the new growth over the fields has. It’s resolute. Intact, but a bit frayed at the seams for the handfuls of years spent abandoned in favor of building a bigger and better one on Hoth before the Empire fell. The building—tiered and morphed with so much of the greenery that encircles it—is overgrown and mossy. If you squinted, it would disappear into the background entirely, an amorphous tan engulfed entirely by the green that grew back. You swallow, staring up at it. If you close your eyes, you can pretend that the wind whistling through the trees is the faint sound of X-Wings soaring through the blue, clear sky; that if you turn around, you’ll be surrounded by noise and machinery and smiles and orange jumpsuits. When you look back, it’s just Din, his hand in yours, and the baby who’s trailing behind you instead of his dad. You smile, the edges all wobbly, squeezing at the flesh of Din’s palm hidden underneath his glove. </p><p>Inhaling, you step forward. The door doesn’t open easily anymore—it’s been weighted down by new growth and disuse—but it still slides under your touch. Inside, the darkness is startling. It was always dark in the base, because the architecture of a tiered temple on a planet that was designed to hide its existence was always intended to be dark and reclusive, but you didn’t realize how much light came from the people that lived inside until the place was desolate. </p><p>Even now, as you step forward into the hallway with Din and the baby close behind, you’re expecting familiar faces to peek out from the empty halls and forgotten rooms where your life used to live. One of the Damerons, maybe, or Wedge Antilles, or other groups of people you never met up close but were always orbiting. It’s just the three of you, though—you, Din, and the baby—your new family, here inside the empty walls of the place you used to call home. </p><p>“That’s the mess hall,” you whisper, but even that feels too loud, like your voice ricochets off of the walls. “I spent a lot of time there. Bruna, the best chef on base, used to slip me extra food when no one was looking, and she—she was the one who showed me the radio, taught me how to sing.” You smile, faintly, the fingers not laced in Din’s pinching the insignia on your necklace. He looks at you, without speaking a word, as silent as you need him to be, just taking every inch of this place in. You point out other parts of the base—the meeting rooms you always saw high ranking officials sweep in and sweep out of, the control rooms, the places where people gathered in their off time to play Sabacc—but when you arrive at the block where your family used to live, everything you want to say dries up in your mouth. </p><p>Wordlessly, you lead them down the corridors to the maze of stairs and levels that led to the sleeping quarters, heart hammering something horrible deep inside your chest. You haven’t been back here since your parents died. After you learned of their deaths, you couldn’t even sleep in your own bed. It was too quiet. Everything down here, soundproof and silent, felt like the sucking, crushing, deafening sound of space, and when you were suspended in it, you could imagine their screams as they were shot down, how horrible the ship must have screeched as it plummeted from sky to doom. You tuck both sides of your hair behind your ears, swallowing, trying to work past the giant lump that’s sitting at the base of your throat. </p><p>“Nova,” Din whispers, and his voice, so silent, so measured, even through the modulator, “we don’t have to—”</p><p>“No,” you interrupt faintly, “no, I—I just need a minute.” </p><p>He nods, and the fleeting, anxious smile that dashes across your face is reflected just for a second in the visor. You swallow again, eyelashes fluttering, teeth gently braced. </p><p>“This is where I used to live,” you manage, and then, before you have a chance to second-guess yourself, you’re pulling the man you love and your child behind you, leading them down the hallways where you grew up. It sings out to you, the memories so vivid and lively in stark contrast to all the darkness. Down at the end of the hall, there’s a window you used to watch the X-Wings zoom past as they collected in numbers across the blue sky. Three doors down from the entrance is where your friends lived for a brief season while their parents were temporarily stationed here instead of Hoth. You used to play cards and color with the two of them right here, in the middle of the hall, because it was always swarming with people around the corner, and you could feel like you were a part of their conversation, even out of reach. The fresher for your floor still stretches out, tiled with blue and green in a mosaic across the length of the room, curtains gently swaying in the wind that rushes in through the open window. You point all these places out to Din and the baby the best you can through all your reminiscing, and then, before you realize it, you’re at the door. </p><p>You’re not sure if you even want to open it. It looks untouched, preserved, the door shut. It rattles slightly with the breeze, and you have to hold your hand over the handle for what feels like hours before you feel strong enough to open it. When you do, your breath hitches back up in your throat, dangerous and loud, and Din’s hand finds your free one, and you close your eyes against his touch. </p><p>“I never thought I’d be back here,” you whisper, barely anything at all. “I—I don’t know what it’s going to look like in there.” </p><p>Din gently drops your grip and brings his gloved hands up to direct your face parallel with his helmet. His palms, heavy and covered, grip your face tight enough to keep you anchored there, and you let him, just for a minute. “I’ll follow you,” he promises, and you nod, trying to blink away tears that haven’t even formed yet. “Anywhere. Okay?” </p><p>You bob your head again, and when your hand finds its way back to the knob, you have the strength to open it. </p><p>It looks preserved. Untouched, even though you’re sure that can’t be true. You step in, the same braided rug still laid across the floor, in between your parents’ bed and the small table you never ate at. There’s still heaps of books, maps, and plans scattered across the surface, as if your father just left them here for lunch and had yet to come back. On the walls is your mother’s sloped handwriting, curly letters displaying the usual recipes for the treats she used to bake for the three of you on her days off. There’s a drawing you did of you, your mother, and your father, holding hands, standing at the ledge of your favorite cliff on the other side of the base, the one that slopes down to the tiny cove that holds some of the blueness of the ocean in before it spills out and makes up the larger sea that stretches over a good third of the planet. Your finger catches the blue of the picture in the light, and you smile, spinning around to walk through to the tiny alcove where you used to sleep. </p><p>There’s a sob lodged in your throat, somewhere deep and guttural. It’s untouched. All of it is untouched. When you ran, it wasn’t like you deserted the Alliance—they were family for too long for you to ditch them and keep running. But it was clear that you didn’t want to be a part of this anymore, that it hurt too much to look at. You broke almost every connection you had with the people here because they felt too alive when your parents didn’t, and it tore your heart into shreds. You always assumed everything you didn’t take with you when you officially left the Alliance was trashed, recycled, or used to make another little family feel more at peace on the new base, but it’s all still here. Everything. It feels like you and your family just left an hour ago, and that your parents could be walking through the doors any second. </p><p>You can’t help it. You sink down on their bed, curling up as small as you possibly can, pressing your nose into the pillows, trying to smell the scent of your parents. It’s there. Even after ten years, it’s there, faded but existent, and, before you can say anything, Din is rifling through the cupboards. You’re staring at him, brain fuzzy and slow, and it isn’t until he brings you over a container with an airtight lid do you realize what he’s doing. Wordlessly, he pulls the pillowcases off the pillows, heaping in the blanket that always resided at the foot of the bed, sealing it up with the smell of your family inside.</p><p>“Din—” </p><p>“Stop.” </p><p>You do. He’s kneeling down, between both of your legs, either palm resting on your hips. He’s so gentle with it, the way he commands you, and you bite down tearfully on your lip when he leans in closer and you can see your own reflection in his visor. </p><p>“You’ve spent long enough without your family, cyar’ika,” he says quietly. “You don’t need to go any longer.” </p><p>You sob, tears spilling down your cheeks. You brace your hand on his pauldron, hoping the chill of the silver beskar will stabilize you. Finally, the baby reaches out with his tiny little fist, and you let him close it around the pointer finger of your other hand, and there you are, suspended, the last remnants of your family in your lap, and both parts of your new one in your hands. “I—I haven’t lost my family,” you whisper. “I’ve just found more.” </p><p>Din stares at you. Under the helmet, under the opaque shield of the visor, you can tell. His eyes, his brown eyes, are locked on your own, a tractor beam, a locus, a star. You don’t know how long you stay like that, your forehead pressed up against his, letting the baby’s fist hold the entirety of your finger, reveling, grieving. It feels like hours when your tears finally dry, when you’re able to stand on your feet without them wobbling underneath your gravity, and when you’re ready, you let Din and the baby leave the room first. Your eyes travel over the contours of the room—your drawings, your mother’s recipes, your father’s books of language, the small, tinny radio in the corner that Bruna gave you, the braided, colorful rug sprawled out on the floor like an open mouth. It feels so familiar, so bright, so vivid—and so distant, so faded, so tired. You bite down on your lip as you walk out, closing the door enough to only leave one small sliver of light in the vestibule. Something to shine on after you leave. Something to welcome you if you ever come back. </p><p>The rest of the building doesn’t feel as ghostly after you visited the place you used to call home. The three of you breeze though the different levels, the hallways, go through all the doors that lead to big, sprawling tactical rooms, pointing the luminescent hologram tables out to the baby as you pass them by. Eventually, you, Din, and the baby make your way to the exit, and when you step out of the same doors you entered through, they don’t feel nearly as heavy. </p><p>Yavin’s sky glows at dusk. It’s a combination of the bioluminescence that plumes every part of the foliage here, the gaseous beacon of Yavin Prime, and all the warmth that collects on the edge of the horizon. When you were a kid, you’d kept a tally of how many sunsets made the sky flood into pink. Pink that would compete with Naator, that kind of deep, tropical shine. There’s been nine, in your entire life. Tonight makes ten. </p><p>The flowers and the grass are rustling in the winds the trees give off, leaves brushing and dancing against each other. The Crest looks foreign, too sleek, and too metal to really belong on the planet’s surface, but when you start striding towards it, it gets drowned out by the sky. Behind where the ship is parked is the path down to the tiny cove you found when you were a kid, covered by rougher terrain and hidden pathways that the new foliage has grown over. </p><p>“C’mon,” you say, voice lilting and gentle against the warm breeze, hair lifting in the wind. “Follow me.” </p><p>“Is this safe?” Din asks, and you roll your eyes at him as you lead the way. </p><p>“Says the man who hunts people for a living?”</p><p>“I don’t mean—” he sighs, cutting himself off when a branch you let swing back nearly knocks him upside the head, “I know there’s nothing down here to hurt us, Nova, I mean this is a dark path down a cliff.” </p><p>“You have infrared tracking and scanning built into your helmet,” you volley back at him, tossing in a grin so he knows you’re half joking, “I think you can handle some roots and branches.” </p><p>“<i>I</i> can.”</p><p>“Oh, so growing up here isn’t proof enough that I know what I’m doing?” </p><p>“You’re clumsy,” Din says, and you exchange looks with the baby. “You sleepwalked last night. You could easily go tumbling down the cliffside.” </p><p>“You have a jetpack,” you argue, jabbing your pointer finger against the thing on his back, “you could catch me. Besides, I grew up here,” you reiterate, “and I made this path. Just wait to see where it goes.”</p><p>“Nova—” </p><p>“Trust me,” you say, and the wheedling pressure in your voice immediately makes Din fall silent. It only takes a few more strides to get there, anyways, and then the thicker brush dissipates into a handful of thin trees, and then disappears into nothing at all. There’s sand here—not the kind on Kashyyyk, finer and lighter—and it sifts over your boots as you eagerly unlace them. When you sink your bare toes into the beach, it feels like home, piles of it pooling over the tops of your feet. Din stands with the baby, now asleep in his egg, at the edge, hidden like a statue in the leafy trees, and you spin around to face him. </p><p>“Come on,” you repeat, gentler this time. He’s still standing there, and you blink at him a few times, confused, trying to figure out why he’s frozen. Finally, you spin back around, and the sky is absolutely glowing. The sun is teetering over the horizon, swollen and orange and gorgeous, the sky around it pink and luminescent. It’s warm, the perfect temperature where the breeze is steady but doesn’t rinse cold over your skin. Above, on the cliffside where the Crest is parked, the tall grasses sway. As the sun slowly starts dripping beyond the ocean, rippling off somewhere into the night, you see a glowing green flash. So quick, so brief that you think you imagined it, and then the sky floods over with light, deep and gorgeous. </p><p>“I’ve never—” Din says, and he sounds winded. “I—I haven’t seen a sunset like that since I—since we met. On Nevarro .” </p><p>You step closer to him, making sure your silhouette isn’t blocking the radiance of the sun sliding over the sea, slowly reaching out your hand to him the same way he did to you. “It’s something pretty special here,” you whisper. </p><p>“Nova, I—” Din cuts himself off again, and you tilt your head at him, eyebrows furrowed down the middle, trying to understand the way his voice is strangled, seizing. “Thank you for—for not running when I took you here. For showing me your home.” </p><p>“Oh,” you say, softly, and then, more reinforced, “of course. But…it isn’t my home anymore.” </p><p>“It isn’t.” </p><p>You shake your head, stepping one more stride closer, close enough where Din can reach out and grab you if he needs to. “No. You’re home. The baby is home. The Crest—glorious, tempered beast as she is—is home. Wherever you go, I go. Wherever you are. That’s home.” </p><p>He stares at you. You haven’t seen him this wordless in months, not since you first stepped onto the ship that you now consider your home. You extend your hand again, and this time, after a few second of the visor tipping down to look at it, he grabs it. </p><p>“When I met you, something changed.” </p><p>You swallow. “Yeah?”</p><p>“I never thought about fate. Just the Way. Just—living, hunting, making money. It was my way of survival. Nothing less, nothing more. And then, something shifted when I found the kid. I told you once that I—I gave him up first. I knew it was a mistake. So I went back for him, and I’ve been fending off the entire galaxy for him ever since. But,” Din sighs, his hand squeezing against yours, “he was a foundling. My foundling. And when I protected him, saved him, the rest of the Mandalorians in my clan followed me into the fight. Even though they didn’t have to.” </p><p>You nod, watching as the night slowly starts gathering around the both of you. Your eyes flick over to the baby, where he’s snoozing peacefully in his cradle, and a smile flashes across your face before your gaze shifts back to Din.</p><p>“I was raised in the way of Mandalore,” Din continues. “That’s what I was always taught. That you never take off your helmet, you never reveal your face, because that was the Way.” He swallows. You can hear the sound of it even through the modulator. “Then I met the kid. Then I met Axe, and by extension, Bo-Katan, and…the Creed shifted. It changed interpretations. The Armorer, the rest of my cohort—they were adamant about following the Way.” The helmet tilts. Everything in you is on fire, your heart galloping a race inside your chest. “But I—the Way wasn’t just one thing like I was taught. I was a foundling. The kid was a foundling. And then I found you.” </p><p>“You found me,” you echo faintly. His hand squeezes in yours. </p><p>“Nova, I looked into your eyes, and you met mine. Even through the visor. And then you saved me, and you kept saving me. You—I found you, and you felt more like family than the rest of my clan ever did.” </p><p>Your eyes are blinking furiously to try and slow the tears that are collecting at the edges. You’re failing. Din’s grip on your hand is crushing, huge, and it hurts, but you know he’s so concerned with what he’s trying to tell you that he isn’t paying attention, so you just let him do it. </p><p>“What—um, what are you saying?” you ask, voice sounding so far away from your mouth. Above, the sky is gathering with clouds, still pink and vibrant even as dusk closes in. </p><p>He sighs. All air. No noise. “I’m saying…my way is you. I said it before. I mean it more now. I don’t know, really, what it means to be a Mandalorian in the context of what I was raised in. But I know the family I found in the kid, and then in you—you’re worth bending the rules for.”</p><p>“Ni kar’tayl su,” you whisper, automatic, and before you can finish, he’s interrupting you. </p><p>“Darasuum. Eternity, cyar’ika, forever.” </p><p>You nod. You want to do more. You want to show him how fast your heart is racing, how your stomach is filled with an entire menagerie of butterflies, how deep and eternal your cosmic connection is, how bright he shines. </p><p>“I wanted to take you here for ages. To give your home back to you. But then—” he stops again, taking your other hand in his, drawing you closer. You’re pressed flush up against the metal now, your heart still hammering. “You told me about your name, and I showed you where I lived—and I realized that wasn’t home anymore. I wanted to take you here to see if this was still home to you, if Yavin felt—more like home than I did.” </p><p>You shake your head vehemently. </p><p>“Did you mean it?” Din asks, voice low and urgent. “When you told me you’d follow me anywhere, did you mean it?”</p><p>“<i>Yes</i>,” you breathe, voice concrete, secure, sure. “I meant my other promise, too. I meant all of them, but the first one I made to you—that I wouldn’t run—I meant it then, and I mean it even more now.” Gently, hesitantly, you lift your palm out of his to rest on one side of the helmet, and your breath catches as he leans his face into your touch, like it’s nothing, like it’s natural. It is. You know it. He knows it. You swallow, holding Din between your hands like he’s always done with you in his. “Nothing you could ever do could make me stop loving you. I’ll wait until you’re ready. I’m not going anywhere.” </p><p>You’re not sure how long you stay there, like that, but the corners of your eyes fill with the bioluminescence of the orchids that trailed into this little alcove, and, suddenly, Din is pointing up at a shooting star that coasts over your heads, barreling across the ocean where it laps at the shoreline, and you spin with his finger, watching as it bursts across the night sky, all the glittering starshine just as bright, just as luminous. The kind of star you have etched on the back of your necklace. The kind of light that you could rival with your name alone. </p><p>When it dissipates, glittering off somewhere beyond the horizon, you slowly turn back around, fully intending to pull Din closer to the shoreline, to let him stand at the edge of sea and sky with you, watching as the stars double in volume, radiant and sparkling at the lapping tides. Except Din isn’t standing where he was a second ago. He’s kneeling on the ground, staring up at you. And his hands are hooked under the rim of his helmet. And then, before you can say anything, before you can cover your eyes, he pulls every inch of the helmet clean off.</p><p>Your mouth is open in shock. Every single atom inside your starstruck body is screaming at you to avert your eyes, to close them, to slap either hand over the traitorous things, but you can’t. You’re frozen, gaze roaming hungrily over every single inch of it, putting every single piece of his beautiful face you’ve gathered over the past year into place. His eyes are what captivate you first—brown, deep, kind. Then you roam over his beautiful hooked nose, the same one you’ve felt buried in between your legs, the same one that presses into your face when he kisses you, devours you like you’re the only thing in the galaxy that can satiate him. His hair, shorter than you’d felt in the dark last night, his stubble, the brush of his mustache, his lips, the ones he kisses you with, the ones he devastates and resuscitates you with. His ears, the shape they take in the darkness. The thickness of his eyebrows, expressive and softer than you’d imagined. </p><p>“Din—” you say, belated, your voice buzzing and strangled from where it’s somehow creaking out of your open mouth, “I—”</p><p>“Marry me,” he says, and you choke out a sob. “Nova, I—I’ve been planning this for months. I’ve wanted to ask you—to show you—a million times, cyar’ika, but the voice in my head screaming the Mandalorian Creed was too loud.” </p><p>You blink at him, dumbfounded. “I—what drowned it out?”</p><p>“Yours,” he says, immediately, reaching out. You step in close to him, wordless, roving your hands over his face—his beautiful, <i>beautiful</i> face, every inch of it exposed and bare, every inch of it yours. “There’s loopholes in the Creed when it comes to families. You showed me that yesterday. And you’re mine.” </p><p>“Did you know,” you say, voice still coming out funny, alien, distorted, “that—that in some languages, din means noise?” </p><p>“What?” he asks, and you glance your fingertips over either of his cheekbones, feeling the way they glide freely across his unmasked skin. </p><p>“Din means <i>noise</i>,” you repeat. “A—and I always thought how—how ironic that was, when it came to you. You make me quiet. You make the silence less loud.” </p><p>“Novalise—” </p><p>“Your name means noise. And my name means to shine,” you barrel over him, and then his hand is pulling you in, and you fall to your knees, kissing him, his unencumbered lips, tears streaming in full force down your face. “M—my name means to radiate, to shine in silence—” </p><p>“And you do,” he interrupts, fingers tracing maps he cartographed across your face. “What are you saying?”</p><p>Your laugh comes out too loud, discordant, strange, but another array of stars streak over the horizon, a beacon, a benediction. Something to guide you home. You kiss Din again, grabbing at his face, greedy and impatient, wanting to let your lips roam everywhere they possibly can, to thank him for trusting you. “I’m saying,” you say, squeaking out a shaky, giddy breath, “that we’re made for each other. And, also, that Novalise Djarin has a mighty fine ring to it.” </p><p>“So—” </p><p>“Yes,” you shriek, too loud, “yes, y—es, of course I’ll marry you, I love you so mu—” and then his lips are swallowing yours. You’re both on the sand before you can break away to stare at him, to take in every single bit of his face. His eyes are deep, concerned. He looks unanchored without anything to cover him up, but when your gaze drinks in every inch of him, starstruck, he relaxes. </p><p>“I don’t have a ring,” he says, expression clouded, “I can’t offer you a stable life, a home other than a starship, I can’t—” </p><p>“I don’t <i>care</i>,” you interrupt him, earnest, heart roiling in your chest, “I don’t need anything else. I don’t need a ring to prove I’m yours. I have you.”</p><p>And then his lips are on yours again, and it feels like the very first time. </p><p>You’re aching, every part of you Din’s. You can’t swallow him up quick enough. The two of you are both on the ground, sand filtering over your clothes and pooling over the beskar. You’re crying, and the salt from your tears is swarming over your face and leaving residue all over Din’s. You’re kissing him with your eyes open. You can’t help it, it’s all you’ve ever wanted—to have permission to look, to see him, all of him, the man you love. </p><p>“Take me home,” you whisper, between kisses, and before you have a second, the jetpack is ignited. You squeal, grabbing onto the baby’s cradle before the three of you are rocketed upwards into the stars. As you scale the cliff, wind whistling around you, whipping your hair like crazy, flying upwards into the faded brilliance of the night sky. Wordless, he lands, gentle, helmet still off, and you stare up at him, stumbling, letting the baby go on ahead of both of the baby go on ahead of both of you. </p><p>“You’re staring,” Din mutters, his eyes darting and expressive. When the wind ripples over you again, he startles with the way it rustles his hair, how his soft, dark curls sift in the breeze.</p><p>“You’re beautiful,” you say, reverently, touching your fingers to his unmasked face, running just the tip of your pointer over the collection of hair in his mustache that crests over his top lip. He doesn’t flinch, even though his eyes are still guarded, fearful. “You—you look like how I imagined. I’ve been putting pieces together for months—the color of your lips, your brown eyes—but—” you swallow, rising up on your tiptoes, trying to bring your face as close as you can to his, “—you look how I imagined, somehow. I didn’t have a picture in my head of your face, but this—this fits.” </p><p>“Oh,” he says, dazed, and then his arms move to lift you up. Your whole body, anchored just under his weight, his arms, is hauled up in the air. His hands, big and strong, supporting the entire weight of the back of your thighs, holding your torso up, even with his. </p><p>“I could find you anywhere,” you breathe, staring into his eyes, your own roaming over his lips. “Anywhere. Helmet on, helmet off, it doesn’t matter.” You bite down on your lip, blinking enough to try and wash the tears out of your eyes. “Thank you for letting me know you.”</p><p>You’re quiet, bated breath, hoping that Din realizes the weight of what you mean, that you’re trying to tell him that knowing him came before seeing him, that you’ve known him since the second he walked into your life way back on Nevarro, the very first day. </p><p>“I have never wanted,” Din says, eyes still fixed on yours, your fingers still pressed flush up against his face, “anything more than I want you.” </p><p>“Then take me,” you whisper, and Maker, the look he gives you before his mouth envelopes yours again is more than enough. Everything you’ve ever imagined, the way you know he’s looked at you in the dark, how ravenous and swayed he’s been by you—seeing the real look on his face is almost enough to get you all the way there on your own. You moan, loud and unencumbered in the night, and, before you can do anything, Din’s pulling you both down on the ground. It’s like you were on Naator—about to make love under the stars—but the breeze is so warm and the luminescence of the orchids peppered all over the ground rivals the shine of the galaxy above, and this feels huge and residual. Huger than it did then. Huger than it ever has. “Take me,” you repeat as Din lays you down, gentle and warm, on his cloak that he’s spread all over the tall grass. </p><p>He looks at you like you’re the only thing in the universe. When he kisses you again, pulling your worn clothes off you, slipping the straps of your tank top down over your arms, fingers knotted in the fabric like his only goal is to get it off, you sigh happily into the night. </p><p>“There’s no one here but us,” Din whispers, his breath hot and heavy in your ear, “so I want you to be as loud as possible.”</p><p>You moan again, wet and hot, as his lips travel behind your ear and down to the pulse point on your neck that burns like a small star. “Can I scream your real name?” you ask, breathless.</p><p>He pulls his mouth away from where it’s doing magic tricks on your collarbone. “Yes,” he hisses, and the way his mouth returns to your neck makes your back lift off the cloak he’s laid on the moor. Strangled, you try to reach for him, your hands flapping uselessly against his skin, trying to wedge your fingers under the beskar to pop it off, to get open, to give his skin as much air as yours is getting.</p><p>“Din,” you breathe, “take this off.” He looks straight at you as he starts pulling the armor off, one by one, hungry and lustful. You’re trying to catch your breath, and then his shirt comes off, and you can see the half-moon scars, the whiter new growth of skin over all the injuries of his that you’ve patched up over the last year, some more healed than others, and you press your fingertips to the big one on his stomach, the first one you ever took care of, roving down his belly, a mirror image of yours. Sighing, you trail your hand down the middle of his stomach, following the fine dark hair that gathers somewhere under his sternum and blossoms when it meets his pelvis. Your hand slips down over his pants, feeling him harden under your touch. Dazed, you let your head fall back to the ground, impatiently hooking your fingers through the waistband of his pants, the last obstruction you have from feeling him on you, in you. </p><p>He parts your legs, moves forward to step into the valley between them. You stare up at him, his beautiful unencumbered face, the way his eyes set on you. You keep having startling moments of recognition that you’re really seeing him, all of him, for the first time, that you’re the only person that has ever seen Din unmasked, been the only person deemed worthy of seeing him, knowing him. His fingers lift, running gently down where you’re already soaked, and when he presses his thumb against your clit, barely anything there at all, your moan already rips out of you, seismic and huge. </p><p>“I want to take my time with you,” he gasps, and you see how he hardens as he licks the gleaming up of where his finger just dipped inside you, and you’re already so close. “I want to fuck you forever.” </p><p>You swallow, trying to regain any composure you can possibly muster. Lifting your left hand, you wriggle it at him, pointing to your ring finger. He stares at it for a second before you can explain what you mean. “Have the rest of our lives for that,” you manage, breath heavy, chest heaving, “fuck me as hard and fast as you want.” </p><p>His moan comes out strangled, and then he’s off his knees and crawling down to lick you clean. The second his tongue meets you, desperate, curling, you practically scream with the sensation. He’s taking licks that are agonizing, especially compared to the rhythm he pounds you with when he worms two fingers inside you, beckoning against the warm plush of your skin. </p><p>“Taste so good,” he says, muffled, between your legs. “Might need to hold you here with my mouth until you cum.”</p><p>Unbelievably, you do. “Well,” you say, only slightly embarrassed that all it took was a few strokes and his tongue on you after you talked such a big game yesterday, “good news, you can fuck me now.” </p><p>Din pulls his head up, and your heart races, breath caught in your throat. Even in the dark, his face glows, illuminated by the orchids and the stars above the two of you. “Oh, no, cyar’ika,” he says, voice deep and sultry, “I’m going to devour you first.”</p><p>“Oh,” you whisper, dazed, and then his tongue is swirling around you again, the tip darting in and out, both of Din’s hands hooked up on your hips, pulling your pussy down into him, licking like there’s no tomorrow. “<i>Oh</i>,” you repeat, strangled, legs shaking under how persuasive he’s being, how determined he is to eat you and touch you until there’s only one orgasm left in you. “Please let—let me touch you,” you whine, both of your hands fluttering around his torso. He resists at first, flashing dark, warning eyes from between your legs, and you haul him up so that he’s over you, so you can stare directly into his face. </p><p>“It’s your turn,” Din whispers, his voice laden with desire. “Don’t make me pin you down.” </p><p>Your eyes flash, you can feel it. “I’d like to see you try,” you taunt, immediately reaching your hand out so it can wrap around his cock, before he can protest about wanting and needing to take care of you first. You grip it tight, enough to make a small bead of precum pearl out of the tip, and you swipe your finger over it, gathering the slick for your next stroke. His head dips, moaning into your ear. </p><p>You can hear it in the way his breath is hitching—he’s getting close. Just from this. And it’s enough to almost get yourself there, too—knowing that simply touching you, licking you clean makes him more turned on than anything else—but you hold it, trying to make your fingers last. </p><p>They hitch as he moans again, just for a second, but it’s enough. It’s enough for him to grab your free hand and pin it above your head with your other one, his beautiful face pressed up against yours, his breath so hot. </p><p>“This what you want?” he asks, nodding at where he has both of your wrists pinned in his, an iron grip. “You want me to hold you down like this while I fuck you?”</p><p>“No,” you breathe, and, immediately, his fingers starting to detract, you bite down on your lip. “No, not just this time. I want you to hold me down until the rest of our lives, Din Djarin.”</p><p>“Promised that already,” he whines, and his hips buck down on you, and the head of his cock is cresting where you’ve already came, and the weight of it pushing into you, “didn’t I?”</p><p>“You did,” you say happily, trying to lift your mouth up to hiss yours. In one fell swoop, he pushes every inch in you, something large, roaring, defeating hitting you at your apex. Your moan is louf and guttural, and Maker, you’re so glad there’s no one else left on Yavin, because you’re pretty sure that the entire planet could hear you. “Din,” you yell, and then he starts fucking you. </p><p>It’s more than fucking you, though. More than anything else, because you see the way his neck strains when he’s balls deep into your pussy, the way his long eyelashes flutter when he slides in and out of you like it’s absolutely nothing, like everything in you is his. It is. You know it. Din knows it, too, because as his hips pick up the rhythm, he looks right into your eyes. </p><p>“My sweet g—girl,” he strains, voice undone and desperate. </p><p>“Harder,” you breathe, the word huge and punctuated by how he’s thrusting into you. “F—fuck me like you own me—”</p><p>“<i>No</i>,” he interrupts, and you blink up at him, and then his mouth is up against you again, wet and warm. “That’s where you’re wrong, cyar’ika.” You look at him, Din’s face disappearing to the hollow of your neck, and then you hear his voice, deep and guttural in your ear. “You own me.” </p><p>Those are the three words that push you over the edge, screaming with how good he feels, how much you love him, how this is the only thing you’re ever going to want for the rest of your life. </p><p>“Wait for me,” he says, and you’re right on the edge again when you grab onto him, his hand ghosting around your throat, your grip on his face, completely trusting the other to hold everything in your hands like it’s nothing, and when his eyes roll back in his head, thrusting in and out, in and out, in and out, in and—he shudders inside you as he cums, burying his curls into your neck, panting, breathing. “Nova,” he sighs, voice primal, and your breath is shaky and intermittent in your throat. You’re dazed, and it takes him forever to find the strength to get up and pull out, and when he rolls over you into the grass beside you, both of you are starstruck and heaving, staring up at the glittering universe above you.</p><p>“I’m yours,” you remind him, and the words are so quiet you’re not even sure if he can hear you, and then, a minute later, his breath still heavy, Din echoes your own words back to you. Like a promise, like a vow. </p><p>“I’m gonna be a wife,” you say, finally, letting Din roll up and start redressing, taking his hand as he hauls you up. </p><p>“Make you feel old?”</p><p>“No,” you say, honestly, taking your wrecked clothes out of his hands, marveling at just how much damage Din’s capable of when he wants to be. “Makes me feel like everything I’ve wished for is coming true.” </p><p>He smiles, his mouth curled up in something beautiful, and, reverently, you touch his face again. He doesn’t flinch under your grip, and that clouded look in his eyes fades as he looks into yours. </p><p>“In Mando’a,” he says, taking your hand and slowly leading you back to the open mouth of where the Crest’s gangplank has descended, “the word for partner—spouse, really—is neutral.”</p><p>“Oh?” You hold your hair up off your sweaty neck, letting the breeze filter in as you shove it up on top of your head. Wordlessly, Din tucks loose strands behind your ears, and you smile up at him, totally and completely blissed out. “What’s that?”</p><p>He hisses the airlocks closed, and, even with the maw of the ship closing, you can still make out the contours of his gorgeous, free face in the darkness. Din steps closer to you, and you meet him in the middle. </p><p>“Riduur,” he whispers into your ear, and everything in you that’s still trembling with his leftovers feels like it’s alive again, wet and hot, completely undone. </p><p>“Oh,” you say back, breathless, dazed, “I like riding you. With you.”</p><p>He sorts, pulling you in close, and after you kiss, Din wordlessly guides you towards the fresher. It’s so much better, being pressed up against the wall, hot and steamy, getting to take in every inch of him, get to soap up his hair, his stomach, letting your hands and the water drip into every nook and cranny of his body, just as worshipful as he is with yours. When he kisses you through the suds, through everything, it’s like coming home. </p><p>“Come lay with me,” you whisper as the water turns off, pulling your clean hair up in a towel. </p><p>“Just a minute,” Din promises, still dragging his own towel over the droplets on his skin, “you go out there, get in our bed.” </p><p>You beam at him, leaning in to kiss him, so free, so strange. Your heart is a butterfly in your chest, and you swallow, trying to soak up every single feature to memorize it, to paint it in your head whenever he’s gone, whenever the helmet is in place of it instead. </p><p>The baby’s standing in front of you when you get out, and you sink down against the floor with him, towel still wrapped around your body. “Hi bug,” you whisper, and his eyes light up. “What do you have here?”</p><p>The little metal ball—the one Din unscrewed from the joystick, the one the baby loves—is floating between his hands. You cock your head at him as his ears perk up, floating the ball higher and higher, until it’s level with your own grip. You stare at it. </p><p>Something inside you, residual and pressing, tells you to lift your own palms up, to meet where the ball is in midair. The baby nods as you close your eyes, letting all your fear and your control drain out of you backwards, letting your mind clear. When you flutter your eyes open again, you’re in control. Not completely—you can still feel the baby’s energy holding the ball up, suspending it in midair—but you’re sharing it with him. If you focus, you can drop your hands and keep it suspended in midair, with nothing but your own energy, your own force. </p><p>“Stars,” you whisper, joy shooting even your quieted voice up a few octaves. You make it float higher, make it encircle the baby’s head like a butterfly, move it so that it’s just a tangent away from your heart, completely tied up in what you can do, how you can make an object fly, how the baby’s been patient with you and your ability. Something surges inside you. Power. You feel powerful. It isn’t a defense mechanism, your manipulation of the Force, it’s not just when you’re faced with death and don’t have another option. It’s beautiful. Strong. Something both you and the baby share, something warm, something more. </p><p>You’re so caught up in your own wonder than you miss the fresher light clicking off, Din walking back out. You feel the ball soar, oscillating upwards, and when Din says your name, everything drains so quickly it makes your breath stutter. </p><p>“I—” </p><p>“Nova?” he asks, guarded, bewildered. His gaze is oscillating between you and the ball that’s now on the ground, and the way you know your eyes instantly flood in fear. “What—what are you doing? <i>How</i> are you doing—?”</p><p>You blink, trying to come up with an answer, your heart pounding in a cacophony. “I…” you start again, looking from the ball to Din’s face, trying and failing to find the words. You swallow, pulse racing, all you can think about is how awful it is to see his bare face—the way his eyes glow, the way he looks into your soul—when he’s bewildered. You’re guilty. And Din, eyes still moving back and forth between you and the magic you’ve been hiding from him—well, as your heart pounds on, as your eyes start bringing forth tears, Din’s face stays on the same expression. Betrayed.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I HOPE YOU LOVED IT!! like i said earlier, this chapter is everything i’ve been building up to for months, and getting here feels SO emotional. i am so deeply honored that i get to share this story that i love and that has brought me just so much joy with all of you. your support is overwhelming in the best way, and as hard as i try, i cannot even begin to describe how incredible you all are and how much of a privilege it is to share Something More with every single one of you!!!</p><p>i talked about a <b>brief hiatus</b> last week with the intention that i would be able to juggle writing SM, finishing up my senior year of college, and my health, but Wednesday night i was rushed to the emergency room with severe stomach pain that ended up being a ruptured ovarian cyst. <b>that, combined with my already precarious health due to my multiple chronic illnesses, as well as trying to finish up my capstone and senior year as a whole, needs to be my priority right now.</b> i will ABSOLUTELY still be writing, and i hope to have chapter 20 done by Saturday, May 8th. after that, i will also need to take another brief hiatus because my college graduation is May 16th and i have to move back home, 9 hours away. i am so deeply sorry to everyone who looks forward to Something More Saturdays—trust me, i do too, and i am SO bummed that i have to be intermittent with my posting this next month or so—but my body is screaming at me to rest, and i have to listen to it. <b>i hope this chapter is enough to tide you over for a few weeks, and i hope that you’ll understand and stick it out with me while i may be a bit inconsistent. </b></p><p> </p><p>  <b>i know chapter 19 ends on a bit of a cliffhanger—and i’m sorry, i know how HARD that can be!!!—but i wanted to make sure i was leaving y’all with something relatively happy and not have the huge plot points that the next chapters (i’m anticipating writing ~5 more long ones, maybe more, and btw i’ve already started thinking about a sequel, SM isn’t going anywhere anytime soon!) hanging in the balance. <b>i love you all so dearly, and i truly hope you’ll understand and be okay with my absence—the second i can start writing again, i swear to you i will. like i’ve said, this story, and all of you, mean the absolute world to me. until next time—i promise Din, Nova, and Grogu will make the wait worth your while ;) </b></b></p><p> </p><p>  <b>xoxo, amelie</b></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Desperation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>He pats your cheeks and you look up at him, letting him tuck rogue hair behind your ears. “That was way too close, Nova,” Din hisses, pressing the cold metal of the visor against your forehead. “Way too fucking close.” </p><p>“I survived, didn’t I?” you ask, and you’re not trying to question him, but it comes out that way, loose and aggressive. “You—you got away. We got the bounties and we got away, Gideon didn’t touch me—”</p><p>“He got pretty damn close,” Din snarls, barreling over you. “Too close. I’m never putting you that close to danger again.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>HAPPY SOMETHING MORE SATURDAY MY LOVES!!! this chpter is dedicated to all of you, thank you SO much for sticking it out for the two week wait while i put my full energy into finals!! i hope that you love this one; it's full of action and angst (and sex)! i am all finished with all my finals now, so i should be able to get chapter 21 up next weekend, Saturday the 15th, but it's the day before i graduate so i'll keep everyone updated on tumblr (amiedala) and tiktok (padmeamydala)!!!</p><p>HOPE YOU ENJOYYYYYYYYY!!! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You’ve always known Din’s eyes were warm, soulful, filled with life beyond the opaqueness of the visor, and you’ve always yearned for a glimpse for them. To see the way he looks at you, how hungry his gaze is, how full of light, how quiet yet radiant they were. Not anymore. You’d trade it all to go back five seconds in time, to stop lifting the stupid metal ball in the air with your mind. To never see the look of betrayal that’s locked on you like a laser beam, horrified and dark. </p><p>The ball drops to the floor. It sounds so much louder than it actually is, and the squeaks that come out of your mouth along with the clatter are almost deafening. “I—” </p><p>“You’re—you can use the Force?” Din asks, expressive brows scrunched together in confusion, his eyes fluttering between you, the baby, and the ball the two of you can move with thought alone. Your heart is tangled up in your throat. </p><p>“I didn’t know—” you say, breath shallow, heart hammering something horrible in your chest, “that’s what it was—I—I <i>swear</i>, Din, I <i>just</i> did this for the f—first time, I didn’t know—” you swallow, the feeling of it thick and immovable in your throat. “I wasn’t—I wasn’t keeping it from you, I just found out I could even <i>do</i> this—” </p><p>“The blaster,” he interrupts, and the hands that you’re emphasizing your poorly delivered point with fall limp at your sides. “On Coruscant. That’s how it flew out of Xi’an’s hands.” </p><p>You wince. “Yes. But—” </p><p>“You’ve known for days?” he asks, voice funny in disbelief. Maker, you feel your heart breaking in your chest. “Why—why didn’t you tell me, Nova?” </p><p>There are tears now, forming hot and heavy at the corners of your eyes. “Danger. I’m dangerous. The baby,” you say, swinging your shaking pointer finger to his little green body, trying not to focus on how big and scared his eyes are, “the baby—he’s being hunted by everyone who knows about him. T—there aren’t Jedi left, and something the baby has makes him—” you swallow, trying to wet the tip of your tongue, “—a target. Vulnerable. And that means someone is always chasing after you. I didn’t know that what I could do—and feel—was because of the Force, I just thought I could—do strange things, and once I figured out the other day that I could use it…I’m a target too. I’m a liability. I’m—I’m putting you in danger if I use it.” </p><p>He’s still staring at you, completely bewildered. You can feel how large the ache is inside your chest. </p><p>“Din,” you start, and he shakes his head at you. You swallow, eyes roving down his body, over the pockmarks and lines of scars you’ve sewn back up, the flesh that he’s only ever let you see, and you can’t help the tears from falling now.<br/>
“You’re a target,” Din interrupts, voice faraway and strangled. </p><p>“If I use it,” you whisper, “if anyone c—can sense it, they’d probably want me, too.” </p><p>“You lied to me,” he says, and you blink at the accusation. Not only because it came from his bare mouth, but because it’s true. You’re not even sure what you lied about, but you know the weight of it, how affronted he sounds, how he’s made it a point to never lie to you, and how much truth means to him.</p><p>“I—” you start again, desperate, teary-eyed, and then the bounty puck he has strapped against his armor, strewn across the floor of the Crest, starts blinking, furious and red. </p><p>Before you can say anything else, Din’s redressing, pulling clothes from where they landed and snapping the beskar into place. He gives you one more look, betrayed and dark, before he roughly pulls the helmet back over his head, climbing the ladder. You exchange teary looks with the baby, and then you pull him to your chest, feeling his warmth radiate against your skin as you hoist the both of you up through the hole in the floor, trying to squash your tears from where they’re still falling from your eyes. Wordlessly, you sink into the copilot’s seat, running your shaky fingers over the peach fuzz on the baby’s little green head, trying to soothe yourself more than you’re trying to soothe him. </p><p>Your eyes feel like the galaxy’s worst reflecting pool as you watch the back of Din’s helmet, the beskar dark and impenetrable as he navigates out of Yavin’s starry atmosphere, shooting the Crest into the crush of space. The quiet beeping on the dashboard is the only noise for what feels like lifetimes, and you bite down hard on your lip as he pushes the ship into warp, and you close your eyes against the hurtling blue around you. </p><p>It’s quiet again. You don’t know how to fill it in a way that won’t make the situation worse, so you just worry your hand over the baby’s head and try not to make a sound. Finally, the ship pulls out of warp, and you see the scarred atmosphere of a planet, radiating a ring of blue around red and tan notches. You’ve never been here. It looks alien. Silently, Din navigates the ship down onto the surface, and you try to modulate your breathing, try to let the air hang in the way he clearly wants it. You haven’t seen him so stoic since you first boarded the Razor Crest, what feels like a lifetime ago. You can still see the outline of his face every time you close your eyes—his beautiful brown eyes, the shape of his nose, the softness of his lips—and then, in every reimagining, it morphs into betrayal. </p><p>When he lands, Din stays sitting in the pilot’s chair for so long that you think he won’t ever move again. Shallowly, your breath catches in your throat when the bounty puck starts blinking, and, abruptly, he rises up. He towers over you. Even when you’re standing with your body pressed up against yours, he completely eclipses you. </p><p>“You’re Force sensitive?” he asks, and his voice, modulated and quiet, is completely flat.</p><p>You nod, swallowing before you can answer. “Yes.” </p><p>Din’s staring at you, still, under the helmet. “Good,” he says, “that makes it easy.” He’s down the ladder before you can even process what he’s said, eyebrows furrowed down the middle of your forehead. </p><p>“W—what?” you say, gently placing the baby in his cradle, trying to climb down as fast as you can, before Din disappears with absolutely zero context. “Makes what easy?” you say, voice almost completely gone, heart pounding something dangerous and horrible inside your chest. </p><p>The puck starts blinking again. Furiously. You look at it, and back up at Din, seeing how incessantly it reflects in his visor, how obscured he is from you. </p><p>“I have to go,” he says, and his tone is still so flat, so detached from where he’s standing, close enough to feel the heat radiating off your body.</p><p>“O—okay,” you manage, completely and utterly confused. Before you can react, Din steps in closer, reaches a gloved hand around to the small of your back to anchor you against the beskar. Before you can react, before you can apologize, before you can do anything, he presses the metal of the helmet up against your forehead. Your eyes flutter closed, trying to savor every single millisecond that Din spends embracing you, and when he wrenches himself away, it’s far too soon. </p><p>“I’ll be back soon,” he promises, and you watch, wordless, as the gangplank descends. </p><p>You watch him walk away, disappear into the haze, every shiny inch of his body gone. “Be safe,” you manage, finally, before you let yourself cry again. </p><p> </p><p>It’s been hours. Maybe. It could be a handful of minutes, or a collection of days, and you wouldn’t know. You’re alone and listless against the wall of the Crest, the same one you’ve frequented whenever Din leaves and the same one you’ve shared when he comes back. It feels like it’s been full moon cycles that you’ve cried out, the way that your heart aches in your chest. Like something rotten, like a festered wound. </p><p>You made the wrong choice. You know it by the way the guilt aches and hangs over you, a dark storm cloud. You should have told Din the truth from the second you realized that all your intuition was something more than just knowledge and empathy. When you first started seeing the visions. Okay, maybe not the one in the cave on Dagobah, because that was clearly the planet’s doing, that wicked gnarltree, but the ones after. When you protected him from Xi’an, when you fell into the baby’s vision back on Balnab. Maybe that’s why the bounties—and the subsequent stormtroopers—found you so easily. Maybe you were an amplifier, and maybe you have been this whole time, putting Din and the baby in danger before you even realized what sick power you hold. </p><p>The baby toddles over to you a few times, his eyes big and expressive. You let him settle in on your lap, rub your fingers over his fuzzy head, but everything inside you is dark and heavy and exhausted. You sit in silence, hallucinating that your commlink is beeping on your wrist, hallucinating that Din’s voice comes through the darkness to pull you out of it. You just sit and let yourself fester, marinate in all the ache, for what feels like forever. Eventually, the Crest gets even darker, and you know that wherever you are, whatever planet Din’s landed the ship on, it’s nightfall. You hate how empty and eternal the Crest is when he leaves, and this time, it just feels like an unrelenting blackness that you’ve been forced to surrender to.</p><p>Eventually, you let yourself sit back up against the wall instead of your melodramatic slump on the Crest’s floor, and, later still, you make your way over to the small pantry where the stockpile of food has been dwindling. There’s not much freshness left, so you eat up the small handfuls of fruit and vegetables teetering on the line of spoiling and pour one of the larger broth packets into the bowl for the baby. He laps it up twice as fast as you’re able to digest all your food, and you push some small red berries towards him, encouraging him to eat something that isn’t just thin soup. When you both finish, you slog yourself towards the fresher, washing out the remnants from your bowls and utensils. Your reflection is an even sorrier state than you imagined—the corners of your eyes are laden with the crustiness of old tears, your cheeks are sunken and inflamed from crying, your hair a mess in your face.</p><p>“Get it together,” you whisper, and when even your voice comes up broken, you sigh noisily. The water in the faucet doesn’t come out strong enough for your liking, but it’s cold enough to splash the remnants of your afternoon spent sobbing off your face. When you finish, you just want to sleep—you’re tired and your head is pulsing—but the baby is still wide awake, giant expressive eyes filled with all of the emotion you’ve been trying to purge and avoid. </p><p>“I’m okay, bug,” you say, your voice still coming out weakened, the syllables splitting in half. “Can we sleep, please?” </p><p>He shakes his head. You sigh, compromising by sinking down to the floor so you’re as close enough to eye level as you’re going to get. </p><p>“Baby,” you reiterate, “I am literally begging you. Let’s just sleep until your daddy comes back, huh?”</p><p>He blinks at you with those giant, sentient eyes like he suddenly can’t understand a single damn word you’re saying. It’s impressive, really, how stubborn he can be when he wants to. It’s a mystery where he picked that one up. Certainly, it couldn’t have been from his shiny father, man of few words and fewer agreements. You squint at him. He squints back. </p><p>“What do you want?” you ask, eyes roaming over the floor for his metal ball. He perks up when you roll it towards him, watching as it levitates from the floor to the air between the two of you as his tiny green hand rises. You don’t know how long he suspends it there before he looks over at you, and you shake your head. “No. I’m not using it again.”</p><p>The baby makes a noise, and you sigh, throwing your head back. You’re not setting a very good example—you’re being stubborn and tense and short-tempered, and you know how easily the kid picks up and embodies mannerisms of the people around him—but you’re exhausted, and you’re half-heartbroken, and your fiancé just found out you were keeping the biggest secret in the galaxy from him, and now he’s out there searching for a bounty on this unfamiliar wasteland of a planet. </p><p>“I can’t use it again,” you repeat, gentler, “it puts you and your dad in danger, bug, I—I’m not going to be the reason to do that.” </p><p>He looks up at you, ears down in sorrow, big eyes wide and filled with the same tears you feel building in yours again. His little green hand, still outstretched, flaps just the tiniest bit, and you reach out your own to meet him in the middle. You don’t know what else to say or how else to say it, but you’re so exhausted. When he steps closer, and his hand slips out of yours, you don’t have the foresight to stop him. His palm presses directly up against your forehead, and, for once, you don’t fight it. You let the vision come. </p><p>It’s dark. Darker than it was before, the entire planet clouded and shrouded by deep, impenetrable fog. You can hear the cries of people around you, but you can’t see farther than a few inches. Somewhere, you can hear—or feel, or sense—the pulse and whine of those white lightsabers, and you know that shrouded figure who wields them is somewhere in the fog. When you turn to find the source, the vision shifts. You see Din with his beskar staff,  fighting with the same woman you saw in your last one, and you’re on the ground, writhing and desperate to get to him. And then, as you roll over to get up, the vision shifts once more. It isn’t Din and his spear, you’re on a vessel that looks too closely like an Imperial cruiser. Your heart catches in your throat as the image in front of you takes shape. It’s not Din. It’s Moff Gideon, tall, enshrouded, and dangerous. He pulls something out, a weapon, and you throw both hands up over your head in a sad attempt to protect yourself, but before you can shield your eyes, you see the blade ignite. It’s not a lightsaber. It’s in the same family, maybe, but it’s pulsating and wicked, the outline shifting and crackling with stark black electricity. You gasp, skittering backward, and when your hand meets something that isn’t the cool metal of the ship’s interior, you see the baby, scared and handcuffed, and before you can protect him, the beskar of Din’s spear appears out of absolutely nowhere and clashes against Gideon’s blade, and then the vision is over. </p><p>“Hey,” you say, voice shaky, opening your eyes to the familiarity of the Crest, close enough to your makeshift bed to grab blankets and pull them over your lap. You’re freezing, suddenly, heart hammering in your chest. “Hey, baby—what was that? W—why do you keep showing me that? Are you in danger? Are we in danger?”</p><p>He just stares at you, eyes wide and scared. You try to coax your heartbeat back to a resting pulse rate, and then you gather his little green body up in your arms, pressing his head against your chest. You’re still breathing heavily, and you can feel how hard he’s wheezing, his breath hot and scared in your ear. You pull him closer. </p><p>“Bug,” you say, again, trying for both his sake and yours to keep your voice level, “is that a premonition? Is—is that going to happen?”</p><p>You can’t hear him, can’t see him shake his head, but you know he’s answering you. Yes.</p><p>“How soon?” you ask, trying not to convey anything anxious and terrified to him—through your mind, through the Force, however you’re communicating with him right now. “Is it on this planet?”</p><p>No. It’s not. You know, somehow, that it’s not. </p><p>“How c—how can I make sure that you don’t get separated from us, sweetness?”</p><p>Nothing. There’s nothing. You even pull his face away from where it’s buried in your collarbone to try to understand, to search for the answers that had so easily been in your head beforehand, but he looks just as confused and scared as you feel. You sigh, letting him nuzzle up against you again, trying your hardest to not ruminate on the fact that you’re in danger, hard, unavoidable danger, that everything you’ve seen over the past few months, everything you’ve been terrified of—is almost tangible, almost close enough to touch. </p><p>Your wrist blinks, and it’s so startling in the darkness that you audibly gasp. It startles the baby, too, before he leans back, sleepy and quiet against your shoulder. You’re not sure how long that you’ve been out—if you’ve even slept at all, because everything in your chest is still heavy and full of grief.</p><p>“Hello?” you whisper into the darkness of the hull, pulse quickening when you remember Din’s the one on the end of the line.</p><p>“It’s me,” he says, low and quiet, and for some reason, that makes everything in you return back to normal. </p><p>“I know,” you answer, your lips contorting into half of a smile. “Are you okay?”</p><p>He’s quiet, for a second, and you sit in silence, even though it still feels so loud. “Just wanted to hear your voice.” </p><p>“What time is it?” you yawn, rubbing at your left eye with the heel of your hand. “How long have you been gone?”</p><p>“Dark,” Din answers, and you don’t have the energy to argue with him that’s not a real time, and you just smile against his voice again. “I’ve been away for six or seven hours.”</p><p>“When are you coming back?” you ask, and the question sits heavy like it used to, before you knew you loved each other. Before you knew he wanted to marry you. Before he knew you had the Force. </p><p>“As soon as I can, cyar’ika,” he mumbles, and for some reason, that makes tears well up in your eyes again. “Go to sleep.”</p><p>“Is it even night?” you yawn again, settling back into the nest you’ve made for you and the baby in all the blankets on the floor. “Like—is the sun up on this planet? Or is it…um…dark?”</p><p>“Did you just—need to ask if it was dark to describe night?” Din asks, and, Maker, there’s relief flooding through you at the shape of his smile. </p><p>“I said night first,” you insist, but you’re already so cozy huddled back up on the floor, and the baby’s wheezing out of his nose, and it may or may not be nighttime, and Din’s voice is in your ear. And he’s not betrayed right now. His eyes are probably crinkled up inside the helmet as he laughs, his mouth pink and open. You pull the pillow closer under your head, the baby shifting against your chest. “Din? Din. I said night first. I need you to know that I asked if it was night first. Okay?”</p><p>“Night first,” Din echoes, sighing as he settles in against whatever corner of the planet he’s on. “I got it, Nova. Go to sleep.”</p><p>“Is it night?” you yawn, and night doesn’t even sound like a word anymore. You don’t think that any of the syllables feel correct in your mouth, but you’re half asleep with Din’s voice up against your ear, and you don’t think it’s the worst thing in the world that you cannot understand the full context of nighttime. “You know, out on the planet?”</p><p>“No,” Din says, and you blink yourself awake. “Technically, it’s early morning.”</p><p>“Formality,” you whisper, sinking back down into the sweet, warm embrace of your blankets, “technicality. That’s a technicality, Din. It’s nighttime. Sleep time. Do you understand?”</p><p>“Mandalorians don’t adhere to nighttime being sleep time,” Din argues, and your heart is doing cartwheels with how light his voice is, how easily he’s talking, how he doesn’t sound betrayed anymore. It’s like the first time he’d left when the two of you first got together—warm, happy, new. </p><p>“You lie,” you yawn, curling up, close to the baby. “Mandalorians do. Bounty hunters don’t.”</p><p>“Hard to tell,” Din counters, “I’m both.”</p><p>“Go sleepy,” you say, which isn’t even a real sentence, and you hear him laugh against the commlink, and then you’ve faded off into dreamland. </p><p> </p><p>When you wake up, your comm is blinking. You startle, kicking the blanket up from where it’s tucked around your feet, heart hammering loud and intense. “Yeah?” you squeak into it, voice rough around the edges with sleep, trying to coax your heartbeat back to its normal rhythm. </p><p>“Are you awake?”</p><p>“Am now,” you say, grabbing the baby up and placing him in this cradle so you don’t scramble over him in the darkness. “Wh—do you need me to pick you up?” </p><p>“No,” Din says, “I’m outside.”</p><p>You blink. “What?”</p><p>“I’m outside,” he repeats, and you look around in complete bewilderment, trying to reconcile the image of him outside of the Crest and the sound of him in your ear. “Open the airlocks.”</p><p>“You have your heat signature,” you say, stumbling over to where the control panel is, “can’t you unlock it by your sheer—hotness alone?”</p><p>“Hotness,” Din repeats, flat.</p><p>“I’m allowed to call you hot,” you say, affronted, before you realize that he means that you said the wrong conjugation of the word. “Oh.”</p><p>“Oh, indeed,” Din says, and then the gangplank lowers, and you’re staring at him. He’s tall and he’s so shiny, shimmering in the atmosphere of the planet, and all you want to do is run into his arms. </p><p>“Bounty?”</p><p>“Not caught,” Din confirms, and you walk a few steps forward until you can touch him. “I have eyes on him, but he’s not going anywhere anytime soon.”</p><p>You look up at him, confused, still blinking around the sleep that’s still in the corners of your eyes. Din’s arm wraps around you, pulls you into the beskar, and you let out a breath, content. “What…do you mean, exactly?”</p><p>“He’s at an inn,” Din says, and starts leading you outside of the ship. “Come on.”</p><p>“Din,” you counter, looking back and forth to the planet’s surface to the dark interior of the Crest, “I am really not understanding what you mean.”</p><p>Din sighs, low and easy, and stops halfway down the gangplank. “His girlfriend showed up. I saw them get a room at an inn in town, and I put a direct tracker on his bag as I walked by him. He’s going to be in there for at least an hour. I know where he is. I know where he’s going. I want to show you something. Come on.” </p><p>You stare at him, eyebrow still furrowed. “You’re not—grabbing the bounty because…because he’s having sex?”</p><p>“His crime wasn’t horrible. Figured I’d give him an hour,” Din shrugs, and you blink at him, completely blank. “What?”</p><p>“You have gone soft, Mandalorian,” you say, looking up at him, letting his hand fall into yours, the yellow pads of his gloved thumbs grazing over the gaps in your fingers. “You’re giving up a bounty so he can get it on? Are you the same man who froze the one you struck a deal with back in the Mid Rim just because you wanted to fuck me?”</p><p>“I’d want every last second with you,” Din says, and everything in your melts. His head is cocked at you, and your stomach does somersaults with how you know he’s looking at you under there. </p><p>“Oh,” you manage, and then he starts moving, and the shimmering horizon of a small city appears before you. You’re distracted by its glitter—just a bit, but its enough to keep your attention—and you keep moving, wordless, stumbling through the ground’s terrain. “What are we doing here?” you whisper, watching as the people you pass keep their gaze trained on the both of you—the shiny Mandalorian, and the girl walking twice as fast trying to keep up with his long strides. </p><p>“Clothes,” Din says, and you’re still not awake enough to understand what he means. “The ones that I promised you four planets ago.”</p><p>“Oh,” you echo again, and then your eyes travel down to what you’re wearing, and you nod. Everything starts clicking into place. Why you’re here, why he returned to the Crest to pick you up, why he let the man he’s hunting down have a quickie in this inn with his girlfriend. Din’s showing you the thing he promised you when he proposed—he’d drop it—all of it, the bounties, the hunt, the armor—for you. You swallow around tears again, before you even realize they’re there. </p><p>Slowly, the town comes into view. The planet’s atmosphere is similar to Tatooine’s, hot and sandy, and everything that juts up from the terrain looks like a mirage until you’re on top of it. The people here, varied in size and species, are loud and dynamic, and you have to sidestep speeders and whatever’s being sold out on the street, just trying to keep and match Din’s pace. He’s so good at it, even on the sandy planets he hates. Maybe it’s the beskar, maybe it’s just that his shoes hold up against the hot terrain more than your old boots do, or maybe it’s just from the years of practice traversing across different ground. You try your best to follow his hulking footsteps, but with the outside factor and your wandering eyes, it’s difficult. </p><p>When Din does stop, you’re so distracted by the rest of the world around you that you almost slam headfirst into his armor. </p><p>“Here,” he says, decidedly, looking down at you. “For clothes. Does this seem okay?”</p><p>You nod, stepping through the vestibule. The darkness of the store feels cavelike in contrast to the bright, sandy planet just a few footsteps back, and you blink a few times before your eyes adjust to the low light. </p><p>“Um,” you whisper, “Din, what planet are we on?”</p><p>“Er’kit,” he answers, gloved fingers reaching out to touch a cloak that’s hanging from the rack. “They might not have everything, here, because the entire planet has the same hot atmosphere. But it’ll be enough to get you started.”</p><p>“I do not need to <i>get</i> started,” you whisper as three cloaked people in tan robes and light fabric head to the storefront, arms laden with their selections, “I need, like, three shirts. Maybe a pair of pants. And underwear. I can get that all here—” </p><p>“I promised you clothes,” Din argues, and then his hands are your hips, swiveling past you to get to the other side of the store, where trousers and loose shirts are hung, all in varying shades from white to black, all neutrals. Typical sand planet clothes, the same kind you collected when you first picked out your own after escaping from Jacterr. Din’s pulling down everything that’s even remotely in your size, and you’re just staring at him. Everyone else seems to be just as transfixed with the armored Mandalorian in the middle of the desert, hauling down an array of shirts and pants and underwear for his considerably shorter and less shiny companion. “How’s this?”</p><p>You blink at him, brain stuck on how ridiculous it looks for Din to be holding this many clothes. “Well,” you start, “I think that’s probably triple how many articles of clothing than I’ve ever owned, so that whole comment earlier about this getting started may be a little too eager—” </p><p>“Let’s go pay for them,” Din interrupts, and you stare at him. </p><p>“I don’t need that many,” you argue, trying to understand where the hell he’s coming from. “Really, D—Mando,  just a few things to replace the ones we’ve torn to shreds—” another group of people passing makes your voice cut off, and you step closer to Din, tracking your face in the visor, reflection just as bewildered as you feel. “Plus,” you whisper, blinking as you raise your chin up to meet his helmet, “I have to try them on to make sure they fit.” </p><p>He stares at you. Maker, he looks so intimidating when he wants to, so commanding, so powerful. You don’t shy away, though, just cock your head to the side like he does when he’s trying to understand what you mean or wants you to be held under his gaze enough for the butterflies to swirl up in your belly. </p><p>“Where’s the closest dressing room?” you ask a passerby clerk, and she gestures toward the very back of the store, where a small, dimly lit hallway opens up to another alcove. You don’t break your staring contest with Din, and, when the clerk has passed, you grab his hand and pull your Mandalorian after you, heart hammering. You look both ways before you step down the hallway, but everyone in the store is either entirely distracted with picking out their own clothes or are up at the register with the worker you just asked, so you pull Din in behind you and lock the door. </p><p>“What are you doing?” he asks, and even modulated, it’s low and quick. Urgent. You bite down on your lip as he slowly puts the clothes on the bench at the far end of the dressing room, and, before you lose your nerve at the collection of people still left in the store and the wide expanse of space where the dressing room meets the open air of the building, you pull your shirt off. </p><p>Din sighs. Loud. For someone who moves so quiet, so stealthily, when he’s out hunting people for a living, he has quite the tendency to moan whenever he’s near your body. His helmet moves as he sweeps you up and down, and before you lose your nerve, you pull your pants off, too. You hadn’t put any bra or undershirt back on after showering last night, so, beside your panties, you’re completely naked. It’s cold in here, freezing in comparison to the ultraviolet, simmering heat on the planet outside, and with the combination of your temperature and how tantalizing you’re being, your nipples harden. You don’t do anything. You don’t try to cover up, you don’t try to move towards him, you just stand there, every inch of your skin bare except for the underwear you have hiked up over your hips, black and revealing. Din sags where he’s standing as you let your hair down from where it was pinned on the top of your head, letting your hand trail past your chest as you lower your arms, eyes doe-wide and innocent, pinching at your right nipple as you do so. </p><p>You’re not sure why it’s so easy to be so brazen in a place so public, but you step forward, just a little, letting your mouth fall open as both of your hands return to your tits, tracing lines over your exposed skin. Din’s leaning back against the wall, now, everything he piled into his arms earlier forgotten on the floor, strewn across the bench. You step closer still, one hand still flicking and pulsing near your nipple, other hand trailing down your open skin towards where the line of your panties are. </p><p>“Nova,” Din says, and you’re sure he’s meaning to warn you, but his voice comes out strained and desperate. When you step closer to him still, you watch how he stiffens even through his full Mandalorian regalia, tongue swiping out of your mouth as you imagine how risky it would be to suck him off in here, how public it is, how quiet he’d have to keep as your mouth was wet and hot around him, tongue fluttering in and out, the vacuum of your lips crushing and warm. You pick up Din’s gloved hand, pulling it off by the yellow tips, all while maintain eye contact with him. This is the most dominant you’ve been, you think, especially in a place this public, where anyone could walk down the hallway and see the both of you in there. But you bite your lip as you bring Din’s hand to your mouth, putting his thumb in your mouth, refusing to break eye contact. With your free hand, you slip past the waistband of your panties, middle finger dipping straight down into your slick, and a small moan comes out of your mouth around Din’s thumb. </p><p>You know how badly you’re teasing him, and you know how hard he’s going to want to fuck you for it later, so, instead of shying away, you push the tip of your finger inside you, slowly pumping and moving as you’re sucking on him, tits still exposed and perky with how much you’re turned on, Din’s fingers in your mouth. His breath is hitching. He’s so hard. You keep bumping into the bulge in his pants as you finger fuck yourself, and every time your knuckles graze against him, Din’s breath gets faster, heavier, more dangerous. </p><p>“What?” you ask, finally, eyebrows raised. Something about the fear of getting caught is making you bolder and bolder, and knowing how much you’re affecting Din while you’re totally naked, dripping around your fingers, makes it easier to forget anyone could be listening. </p><p>“You—” Din whispers, his voice cutting off in a wheeze, “you’re fucking killing me, you know that? Dirty girl.”</p><p>“What are you gonna do about it?” you ask, raising your left eyebrow, trying to ignore how hard your heart is hammering, how your ears are pulsing with your heartbeat. “You gonna put any of these clothes on me or are you just gonna stand there salivating over how much you want me?”</p><p>Everything in you is burning. Some logical, embarrassed voice in the back of your head is screaming at you to stop being so cocky, so brazen, but with the way you can feel yourself tightening around your own fingers, how wet the inside of your panties are around your hand, it’s impossible to stop. </p><p>Before you can try to taunt Din again, he moves. Lightning fast. One minute, you’re pressing him against the wall, anchoring him there with your naked body and your fingers pumping in and out of your pussy, and the next, he’s slamming you up against the same spot, face-first. You gasp with the speed of it, how rough he is with you, and when he pushes you against the wall, you moan, barely disguised against your shoulder and the music that’s playing from the storefront. You’re expecting him to yank your panties down and push himself inside you, but when it doesn’t come, you buck up against where you can feel how hard he is, trying to encourage him with just your body. </p><p>“Dirty girl,” Din whispers again, his voice low and menacing, and absolutely everything in you is on fire. You gasp as his ungloved hand comes down on your ass, hard, intentional. The logical part of you is still yelling to stop, that you’re so exposed, that you have to shut up and bite your tongue or you’re going to be found in here getting fucked senseless by a Mandalorian, but your desire doesn’t give one single fuck. You want him, here, now. You want him to sink into you, hit every single inch, leave you devastated to make up for the look on his face when Din realized you were Force sensitive, use your pussy as punishment. </p><p>But he doesn’t fuck you. He doesn’t pull his pants down, doesn’t start thrusting. Instead, he wraps his gloved hand in your hair, fistfuls of it gathered up at the crown of your head. You gasp as you feel his ungloved one travel from the nape of your neck all the way down to the small of your back. Din freezes, for just a second, and you’re so strung out on his touch that you would let him do literally anything. You feel high, completely buzzing in an astral plane, shivering with how turned on you are, with the knowledge that anyone could walk in on you. His hand slips down, a singular finger tracing just under the outline of where it is on either cheek, and you’re expecting him to pull it down, rip it off you so that he can redress you in something new, but he doesn’t. Instead, over the fabric, he runs his pointer finger down between either cheek, pulsing it right over every ridge, and it feels so foreign, so dirty, that you can’t stifle the moan that comes out of your mouth. </p><p>“Shut up,” Din whispers, so deadly, “I can’t touch you if you’re letting the whole town know. Understood?” </p><p>“Where are you t—touching me?” you breathe back, heart hammering as he pushes the tip of his finger in between the valley of your ass, and then it disappears. You’re about to groan in protest, tell him he can touch you anywhere he wants, that he owns every inch of your body, before his hand reappears at the front of your panties, yanking the waistband of them down so he can plunge his fingers inside you. The only reason you’re not screaming out in pleasure is because Din’s other hand, the one that was tangled up in your hair, is now pressed flat against your mouth. You sag against him, knees buckling as he works his fingers in you, pumping and out, and your vision is clouding with how close you’re getting, and you’re pretty sure Din could hold you right here forever on the edge of an orgasm, and you’d die happy. But then, right before you’re about to let go, shaking and heaving, the bounty puck strapped to his wrist is blinking, and Din’s fingers are out of you, lightning quick. </p><p>“Please,” you moan, so desperate, turning around, breath heavy, hands fluttering towards Din’s wrist to drag it back to touch you, “please, I’m so close, can we wait two seconds—” </p><p>“We have to go,” Din interrupts, but he sounds just as dejected and needy as you do, and you blink, trying to come back down to somewhere normal, as he throws you new clothes. Black shirt—a tank top made of thick, durable ribbed material, and a pair of tan cargo pants that were identical to the ones he ripped to shreds a few planets back. You gather up all the tags, fumbling with trying to pin your hair back out of your eyes, barely buttoning the pants over your soaked panties before Din’s flashing out o the dressing room, and you load your arms with enough clothing as you can, shoving fabric into your back as Din throws a handful of credits at the clerk, more than enough to cover whatever you’ve taken, and you try your best to keep moving in his footsteps, immediately attacked by the heat and the sun reflecting off the beskar. </p><p>“What’s wrong,” you holler at him as he runs, expertly weaving in and out of the crowded streets. “Hey! Where are we going?”</p><p>Din stops, so sudden you almost collide into him all over again, takes your hand, and keeps running. You’re not prepared for this. You’re quick when you need to be, but your body aches from sleeping funny around the baby last night, and your body still wants the orgasm Din got you on the edge of just a minute ago, and it’s so fucking bright out here, and your breath is quick and shallow in your throat. </p><p>“Bounty’s running,” is all he manages, and then you’re being yanked behind him again, trying to keep your feet moving in a pace that’s steady, if not fast, sweaty and covered with dust from Er’kit’s sandy atmosphere. </p><p>The noise comes before you’re even aware of what it is, the whine and pitch of the TIE fighter familiar and angry. </p><p>“You’ve gotta be fucking <i>kidding me</i>,” you scream, and Din stops long enough for you to take cover behind the beskar before an array of blasts are rained down on the two of you. In the distance, just over the next few streets, you see two people joined at the wrist like you and Din are, tearing out of the inn he mentioned, and your heart sinks as the fighter turns back around, sending another set of bullets towards both of you, and Din pulls you around the corner right before the sand swells up and the rounds ricochet were you were just standing. “Why is the Empire here?” you scream, over the noise, as Din pulls his gun out of its holster and aims a few shots at the couple tearing through the sandy path. </p><p>“Bounty must have called them,” he volleys back, ducking behind the wall as the TIE fighter starts screeching towards the both of you instead, “he must have seen the Crest.”</p><p>The Crest, you think, okay, sure, maybe, but how did he know that was Din’s ship? Then, just as quickly—the baby.</p><p>“The baby!” you scream, over the noise of the ship hurtling over you, and Din shields your entire body with his, dragging the both of you around the corner. “Din! He’s alone on the ship—” </p><p>He turns around, grabbing your hips so that you’re right up against the beskar, and you stare straight into the visor. “Can you get to him?” he asks, and he’s so intentional with it, so quiet, and you blink, trying to make sure you feel steady enough to make a break for it. </p><p>“Yes,” you promise. “Can you get this Imperial scum off my back long enough for me to make it down the road?”</p><p>“Yes,” Din echoes, resolute. “I’ll meet you there in three minutes.” </p><p>“Be safe,” you say, and he presses the visor against your forehead, hand squeezing in yours, and then he’s up and out from around the wall, firing an entire armada at the TIE fighter, running towards where the bounty’s on the move, gaining speed as he shoots up into the sky. You swallow, press the symbol on your necklace between your two fingers for luck, and start running yourself. </p><p>You’re not fast. You’re not that quick on your feet, you’re so much better in the air, but the second your eyes collide with an abandoned speeded against the cantina, you hop on, revving the throttle. The presumable owner comes rushing out of the bar, yelling after you, but you go anyways, screaming your apologies into the wind. “I just need it for a second!” you scream to the dust behind you, “I’ll give it back, I promise!”</p><p>It’s much faster than you would have been on foot, and you pull up on the throttle as you zoom past where Din’s running. The bounty and his partner are still a considerable distance ahead of Din, but he’s gaining speed, and you’re the fastest in this particular equation. You exhale, praying to the Maker above that you don’t completely wipe out with the maneuver you’ve never attempted, and throw the contents of the compartment on the back of your speeder at the bounty. It doesn’t hit him square in the middle of the back like you intended, but it knocks into his shoulder, hard, and the two of them go down face first into the sand as Din catches up to them. </p><p>The TIE fighter screeches from behind you, and you chance one look at where it’s gaining speed, and you swing the bike around clumsily to shoot what’s left of your bullets into the sky. None of your shots land, but that doesn’t matter, because the fighter veers noisily off its course and you’re able to shudder to a halt, jump down into the sand, and run furiously towards the gangplank. The airlocks hiss as you get close enough to unlock them with your heat signature, and you thunder up the plank, where the baby’s sitting in the middle of the floor, the rest of your food supply strewn out around him. </p><p>All the adrenaline runs out of you backward as you fall to your knees on the floor of the Crest, looking in disbelief at the rest of the stock, which is all over the floor. </p><p>“You are a little menace,” you say, but you can’t even be angry, because you’re so grateful he’s standing right there, little green belly full, eyes open and full of love. You pull him towards your chest, just for a second, and then you hear the screeching return. You hoist the gangplank up as quickly as you can before the noise multiplies. </p><p>“Get in your cradle,” you toss at the baby as you climb the ladder, and as you’re strapping in, you hear the egg zoom up the stairs behind you, parking on top of the copilot’s seat. You see Din out of the Crest’s front window, gun to both bounties, and as the fleet of TIE fighters whine in the sky above, your heart does backflips, stomach unsettled. “Shit.” </p><p>You’re about to lift off, fly the rest of the fighters out of the sky, or at least send them on wild goose chase after you so Din can get a secure hold on the bounties, but then you see the gun in the woman’s hand and every single other instinct leaves your head except to protect Din. You hurl yourself back down the ladder, starting the ship up as you grab whatever weapon’s closest in the armory and thunder back down the gangplank. </p><p>She has her gun to his head. It’s probably not going to do anything, because it’s weak and rickety and no match for Mandalorian beskar, but the fear inside your chest is dizzying and real. You scream at her as you advance, trying to balance the weight of the heavy blaster in your hand while attempting to look menacing. She catches your eye before three new fighters swoop overhead, and you scream, unleashing bullets at the sky. None of them land this time either, but it’s enough for one to crash into the other, and the third has to circle up an away so they won’t be dragged into the impact. You stagger forward, trying to raise the blaster to a steady grip. It’s so heavy. You think Din’s yelling at you through the helmet, but the noise of the crash and the remaining fighters popping out of space and into the planet’s atmosphere is way too loud.</p><p>“Don’t you dare,” you scream, running towards the bounty. She doesn’t flinch, so you grab the real quarry, the man handcuffed in iron on the ground, and push the heavy weight of the muzzle flush up against his temple. “You hurt mine, I’ll hurt yours,” you warn, trying to sound much more resolute and honest than you feel. You don’t dare to take your eyes off her, but you can hear the screech of the TIE fighters in the distance, and you don’t have enough time. “Let him go,” you warn, and she clicks the safety off. You have no intention of actually hurting the bounty, let alone sending him to his death, but with the ships gaining speed behind you and with her own blaster up against Din’s head, your choices are evaporating quicker than your deliberation. “Let him go,” you warn her again, and she pulls another blaster out of her pocket, and you’re staring down the iron as Din tries to wrestle the gun she’s pointed at his face out of her other hand. She fires a shot, just once, and you’re almost positive it’s just into the sandy ground, but you scream, guttural and unhinged, and you kick down the bounty as you swing the heavy blaster back towards his girlfriend. </p><p>Din’s laying in the dirt, and you’re crying, and you’re pretty sure you’re yelling for him, but she’s still threatening you with her blaster and you can hear how quickly the fighters are gaining speed and you panic. You see Din move—weakly, but enough to prove that he’s just injured, not fatally wounded—and something in you snaps. As the first fighter whizzes over your head, sending down an array of blasts, your hands drop the blaster and shove palm-first into the sky. </p><p>It wasn’t intentional. You were trying to not use the Force at all, especially in front of people who probably summoned the leftovers of the Empire here after you and Din and the baby, but the blaster is completely useless against an array of ships, and it unleashes itself from you like a lightning strike. You freeze the bullets from the TIE fighter midair, the fizzle and pulsing of their electricity surging as you scream, sending them straight back up where they came from. It’s enough to keep most of the ships back, diverting their route and blasts away from the four of you, and when you’re sure they’re not an immediate threat, you turn on the woman, who looks terrified of you. </p><p>You hate that look. It’s the same one that Din wore this morning, the same one that you knew anyone would ever have if you showed them what you could do. You’re not a scary person, let alone a menacing one, but you can feel how nervous she is, how much power you can harness. You breathe, exhaling slowly as you pull your hands down, level with her chest, and she’s frozen. You’re not trying to keep her there, to choke her off, but it’s like the power you can hold in your palms is doing it for you. Horrified, you pull your hands down, releasing her into the sand, and you help haul Din to his feet, grabbing the second set of cuffs for her as he starts pulling the couple towards the Crest. You follow behind, trudging through the sand you just kicked up, exhausted and aching. </p><p>You’re on the gangplank before you hear it. You feel it before it even jumps into the atmosphere, that pit of darkness and danger in your chest, but you’re so wiped from sending the other handful of ships packing that you think it’s just leftovers. It’s not. Out of nowhere, Gideon’s vantablack, arachnid TIE fighter unfolds its evil wings, and you collapse on the gangplank as it surges towards the five of you. </p><p>“Get inside,” you scream, and Din freezes the couple in one block of carbonite as you crack your neck, trying to summon the energy that all drained out of you a few seconds ago. The baby coos from behind you, and you shake your head as Gideon advances, shooting a volley of bullets towards the Crest. You stop them, but you’re shaking, hands trembling, watching helplessly as he swings around and doubles back. There are tears at the corners of your eyes, and your chest is heaving, the hot, dusty air parching and sucking a wound in your esophagus. “I can’t—” you manage, and then Din pulls the Crest up off the sand, and you hang onto the bar just inside of the gangplank, hauling yourself back up standing. You can feel the baby as strongly as Gideon’s ship is loud, and you feed off his energy, trying to gain enough back to stop the blasts that are being shot through the open air. </p><p>Being airborne helps. Even when you’re not at the helm, it steadies you to be skyward, to have gravity on your side. Gideon’s ship fires another round of blasts, and, to avoid them, the Crest slams back against the sand, and you tumble down again. You push yourself off the floor, still weak, still unable to hold a steady breath, and you watch as Gideon lands his ship and emerges from the cockpit. </p><p>Something ignites in his hands. At first, you think it’s still a mirage, that shimmering blackness against the hot horizon, but as Gideon advances, you realize exactly what it is. It’s a weapon you’ve only seen in nightmares and in the baby’s visions. It’s like a lightsaber, but sharper, electric. The blade is as dark as his ship is, so black it would scare darkness, and the edge frenzies with white-hot light. You skitter backward, up the gangplank, as Gideon advances through the sand. His face is set and angry, vicious and cold. You hold your hands up, heart hammering something horrible, knowing there’s not a chance in hell that you’re a match for him to begin with, but the last time you were face to face with a lightsaber—a real one, not one that came from dreams—you nearly died because of it. </p><p>“Fucking—<i>move</i> ,” you shriek at Din, and the Crest groans, but he’s able to get her airborne as Gideon breaks into a run, hurtling straight towards you with death and destruction in his eyes, the blade of the saber wicked and electric. Din’s able to get the ship up off the ground right before Gideon’s boots meet the end of the gangplank, and you scream, guttural and desperate, as you use the last remaining source of energy to push him back. </p><p>“There is no place,” Gideon screams, “that you can hide from me, Mandalorian.” </p><p>“Try me,” Din seethes, over the sound of the engine, pulling your slumped body backwards as the gangplank shakily rises. </p><p>“The baby or the girl,” Gideon says, his voice determined and taunting, “Next time, I’ll make you choose which one.” </p><p>You want to give him a snappy response how he’ll have to pry you from Din’s cold, dead hands, and the baby too, but you don’t even have the energy to sit up straight, and with the fury that Gideon is harnessing, you don’t want to put any ideas into his head. You nod wordlessly at Din that he can leave to navigate the ship, and he hurries up the ladder, punches in coordinates that are anywhere but Er’kit, and shoots the Crest up and out into the atmosphere before he returns, dropping to his knees and pulling you up against the wall, his hands suspending both of your cheeks to keep you upward.</p><p>“Novalise,” Din whispers, his voice low and urgent, and your eyelashes flutter. “Nova.”</p><p>“’M okay,” you manage, and the word itself takes so much out of you that you know Din can tell you’re lying. “I’m fine, I—”</p><p>He pats your cheeks and you look up at him, letting him tuck rogue hair behind your ears. “That was way too close, Nova,” Din hisses, pressing the cold metal of the visor against your forehead. “Way too fucking close.” </p><p>“I survived, didn’t I?” you ask, and you’re not trying to question him, but it comes out that way, loose and aggressive. “You—you got away. We got the bounties and we got away, Gideon didn’t touch me—”</p><p>“He got pretty damn close,” Din snarls, barreling over you. “Too close. I’m never putting you that close to danger again.” </p><p>“I am the danger,” you protest, blinking up at him, weakly grabbing onto his wrists where he’s suspending your face, holding you up. “I—I made the mistake, I used the Force when I wasn’t supposed to, and he probably already knew we were down here, and he—” </p><p>“Don’t you dare,” Din snaps, and you’re not even sure what he’s warning you about, but your mouth bubbles closed, staring up at him. Everything hurts. You’re still heaving and exhausted, and all you want to do is strip Din down and fall asleep pressed against his bare chest, but he’s still holding onto you like you’re the only thing in the galaxy, and you just let him. “That was not your fault. It was mine. I was reckless, I put you in a dangerous situation, and he got too close. You’re not going to ever be that close to Gideon—or anything dangerous—again, do you understand me?”</p><p>“I’m—” you start, and you know you should protest, tell Din that you’re a big girl, that you can handle yourself, that you don’t scare easy, but you simply don’t have enough energy left in you to even make the words come to the forefront of your mind, balance them on your tongue. “I protect you, remember?”</p><p>Din pulls the helmet off. It’s so abrupt that you don’t even realize it’s happening until it’s off and you can see every inch of his beautiful face. His hands find your cheeks again, and you pull him down on the floor with you, enough so that you can climb into his lap, leaning up against the wall, body slumped in exhaustion against the weight of his armor. </p><p>“He almost took you,” Din whispers, and his voice sounds so much more fragile when it’s not running through the modulator. You swallow, trying not to cry. “I put you in that situation, cyar’ika, and he almost took you from me. Just to strip you for parts—for whatever makes that energy run through you. He would torture and kill you afterward just to get to me. There’s not a fucking chance I’m <i>ever</i> letting him get that close to you again. Do you understand me?”</p><p>You just nod, transfixed, lifting your fingers to graze up against his face. He doesn’t flinch when you touch him, doesn’t try to shy away. He stares at you, deep, soulful, protective. </p><p>“I can protect myself,” you say weakly, and Din shakes his head. </p><p>“You can. You’re more than capable. But it’s my job to keep you safe,” Din says, his voice broken and dark, “and I didn’t do that out there.”</p><p>“I’m <i>fine</i>,” you insist again, and then, because he’s still shaking his head, “I’m fine, I promise, I’m <i>fine</i>, okay, Din, I’m okay, I’m safe, I’m here, I’m fine—” </p><p>“Were you scared out there?” he asks, forehead so warm against yours, and you want to nod, want to tell him you were terrified, but you think it might break him, that he’d stop down at the next port and reinforce every single part of the Crest, revamp the artillery, and buy you something completely bulletproof if you do, so you shake your head wordlessly. </p><p>“I don’t scare easy,” you remind him, the promise you made way back on Nevarro finding its way to your lips. “Remember?” </p><p>Din doesn’t have a chance to answer before his lips are up against yours, desperate and wet and warm. You let him lean you back into the wall, and all the dominant, intimidating energy that he pressed you up with not a half hour before has completely drained out of him. Din’s not devouring you because he’s insatiable. This time, it’s because he’s desperate. </p><p>You let him kiss you like it’s the first time all over again. You let yourself be pushed back, body limp to everything except Din’s touch, and he pulls you closer and closer, mouth roving down the pulse points on your neck, lips like wildfire. His hands tangle in your hair and you hum happily under the feeling, and, finally, he slides you down horizontal.</p><p>His eyes are hungry. Desperate, pulsing with the kind of energy that he barely lets out. He strips you down, quickly but gently, and then he starts prying off the armor, throwing it behind him all over the hull. You pull down on his pauldrons, releasing them as you run your own fingers through his dark hair, eyes fluttering open to the shape of his nose, his dark eyelashes, his pink mouth. If he catches you staring, he doesn’t let on, just keeps pushing his tongue inside you, licking the inside of your mouth, hands seizing both cheeks, trying to coax every kiss you have in you out of your open lips.</p><p>“What can I do?” Din murmurs. His voice is so deep, it rumbles through the butterflies in your belly, startling them to awaken. </p><p>“I’m okay,” you insist again, and then you realize he’s asking for permission. “Anything,” you breathe back into his mouth, trying to resuscitate him the best you can. “You can do anything to me. Touch me like you did back on Er’kit. Devour me like you did on Naator. Just take me however you want me—” you say, trying to throw all your energy into your words, but Din’s mouth cuts you off. You moan permission back into his lips, and he nods against you. When he pushes inside you, it’s slow. Agonizing, like he’s trying to savor every single second. You want him just as badly as you did back down in the dressing room, but you don’t dare tell him to move harder and faster. You let him pull and glide in and out, every single inch disappearing into the hollow of your stomach. Your breath is hot and heavy, and he’s murmuring something into your collarbone. Eventually, as you relax into the sensation of him inside you, Din picks up the pace. He’s slamming into you like you’re the last thing on earth, like you’re the only thing left. You can’t hear what he’s whispering against your skin, what he’s whining in your ears, because everything in you is focused on how his hips are hammering, how he’s burying himself to the hilt. It’s deafening and hot and you’re completely on autopilot, eyes wide open on the crush of space that’s just above the surface of the Crest, one hand tangled up in Din’s curls, the other on the side of his beautiful face, and as you feel him starting to quiver, he pulls his mouth off your neck and looks right at you. </p><p>It’s intimidating. You haven’t seen him this up close before, not without the helmet. Even the blip you had on Yavin before both of you came at the same time, it wasn’t like this. In the darkness, even, you can see how he’s looking at you. His gaze is frenzied and desperate, and you put both hands on either of his cheeks, trying to calm it down, trying to coax his orgasm out of him as gently as you can, but he’s looking at you with such a passion that you flush under his gaze. </p><p>“I’m not ever letting him touch you,” Din whispers, and the rhythm of it matches what he was whittling into your collarbone this whole time, “I’m never—ever—putting you in danger like that again, cyar’ika, never, never, never—” </p><p>“I’m okay,” you echo again, your vision starting to glaze with tears, and Din nods, breath heavy and hot against you as his hips pick up the rhythm, pounding every inch of his cock inside you as hard and intentional as he can. “I’m safe, you keep me safe—”</p><p>“No one is going to hurt you,” Din interrupts, like it’s a mantra, “I’ll protect you, I—I’ll protect you, I’ll protect you—” </p><p>“No one can touch me like you,” you whisper, and you mean it every way you possibly can, and Din’s sweaty forehead presses up against yours as he moans, low and strangled, and you hold his face as he lets go, pulsing and warm. You just keep him there, as long as you possibly can, staring deep into his eyes, letting your promise sink in. “I’m not going anywhere.” </p><p>He stares at you. Your eyebrows furrow, looking up at him, trying to decode the look on his face. Finally, he kisses you, all that frenzy and desperation form earlier evaporated, and his lips are gentle against yours. You sigh as he pulls out, cleans himself off, and curls up next to you. You’re not even sure if you came, but you don’t care. You press yourself up to Din’s bare chest, trying  to heal whatever you broke down there with your touch. The silence is so loud, but you stroke your fingers through his hair, trying to show him you’re not leaving, you’re not going to be torn away from him, that Gideon couldn’t ever get through him to grab you—but you’re not sure it’s going to do the trick. After what feels like hours, you’re able to summon words. You’re up in the crook of Din’s arm, face resting in the hollow of his neck. </p><p>“What did you mean earlier?” you ask, and in this silence, even your whisper is loud. “B—before you left, you told me that me being Force sensitive, it makes something…easy?”</p><p>He’s quiet. You wait, grazing your fingers over the side of his face. “I didn’t know how powerful you were,” he says, finally, and you bite your lip in the darkness, trying to understand. “I—the baby, he’s saved me like you did today. It takes everything out of him, after, but you know how much he protected us when we crashed on Dagobah. He’s done that. A few times.” </p><p>“He’s stronger than I am,” you start, and you feel Din’s head start shaking next to you. </p><p>“I think you match him. You’re just as powerful, Nova. I saw it today.” </p><p>Your heartbeat is fast and loud. “I—I don’t know what I’m doing—” </p><p>Din shifts to face you, and you try to find his brown eyes in the darkness. “You have the ability. You—you can learn. You can teach him.” </p><p>You blink at him before you sit up, realizing what he means. “I—I almost got us killed down there, today, Din, that was a very—” you inhale, sharply, “close call, and I got us out, I didn’t get hurt, b—but every time I use it, we get closer and closer to danger. I don’t <i>want</i> it. I don’t want to use it. It makes me and the baby targets, I meant what I said earlier—” </p><p>“You can train him,” Din repeats, sitting up beside you. You’re shaking your head fervently, and you don’t think he can see you, but you hope he feels it. “You can get strong together, and then—I don’t know, we can go after Gideon and stop him—” </p><p>“<i>No</i>,” you interrupt, voice high and shrill. “I don’t want to. I don’t want this. I’m putting us all in danger every time I use it—don’t you understand that? I almost got killed today because of it.” It’s too sharp. You feel it dagger him in the chest, and you reach forward for him. Din freezes, affronted, but he slowly lets you pull yourself up against him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you murmur, and you lay back down, entangled in each other’s arms. “I—I just don’t think I know enough about it to teach the baby. I don’t know enough about how it works myself. I think we need to find s—someone, another Jedi, I don’t know—to teach the both of us.”</p><p>“Gideon’s going to keep coming,” Din whispers back, suddenly, “and I don’t think I can protect both of you when he does.” </p><p>You don’t have it in you to argue, because somewhere deep and dark inside you, you know it’s the truth. The thought’s full of nightmares waiting for you. So you just pull Din’s head into your chest, wordless, and try your best to pull the both of you, heavy and exhausted, into sleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I HOPE YOU LOVED IT!!!! this chapter broke me a little to write because i hate angst, but i promise after the storm that's coming, there's going to be so much happiness!! if you're an angst-hater like me, i promise sticking it out through these next few chapters will be worth it ;) thank you all so much again from the bottom of my heart for your kindness and patience!! your support truly means the world and more to me!!! love y'all!!!!!!</p><p>
  <b>CHAPTER 21 WILL (LIKELY) BE UP AT 7:30 PM EST ON SATURDAY, MAY 15TH!!! i'll let you know if anything changes!!!</b>
</p><p>xoxo, amelie</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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